Ad Infinitum
by Sellinea Veradica
Summary: After Hogwarts, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and, of course, James Potter are thrust into a wizarding world up to its neck in turmoil. The Dark Lord has risen, and they are a part of a new generation that will be forced to face him--or sub
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Author's Note: this is the prologue to a hopefully long series, from the graduation of the Potters to their deaths, and a few months beyond that. POV mostly from the four Marauders, each in turn. Enjoy!

Prologue: Graduation

June 7th, 1976

Albus Dumbledore smiled to himself as he surveyed the milling crowd of students and parents, all attempting to find seats in the packed Great Hall at the various house tables. This pleasant air of excitement and anticipation was a welcome change from the worry and fear that they had all been feeling for what seemed like an eternity. Eight years...but enough of that. For now, all he wanted was to enjoy this graduation as he had enjoyed countless others, as a student, a teacher, and now as the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He felt a particular affection for this graduating class. These students were the seventh years that had been new at Hogwarts the same year he had taken the job as headmaster. It had been a completely different perspective, watching them grow as a whole, not concentrating solely on the Gryffindors--as he had been the head of their house--or on his Transfiguration classes. His eyes strayed to a small cluster of students standing, heads together, in the back corner of the hall, and he smiled again, watching them from his position in the center of the staff table. These were the students he had watched so carefully, students he had singled out as being destined for something special--these, and another, who was currently sitting sullenly at the Slytherin common table. Five students, plus the one. Dumbledore's select few. Of course, he had been careful to avoid favoritism (a common teacher's affliction, he had found) but he couldn't help taking a personal interest in the futures of these six. Today, they would begin that future.

Albus considered one of the laughing young men standing there, James Potter. James, with his unruly black hair and bright blue eyes, James the Transfiguration expert (Dumbledore had always been slightly disappointed at not having the chance to teach this one in a classroom setting), James the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and Head Boy, who nevertheless had an astounding capacity for creative mischief: Albus felt he couldn't have been wrong in giving this one the attention he had. If it took him more than a year or two to master the Animagus transformation now that he was of age, the headmaster would be extremely surprised. He had put in an application to the Ministry of Magic to train as an Auror, or so he had told Albus the previous evening. It would be an excellent opportunity for him, and goodness knows they needed a few proper Aurors these days. Not far from him were his parents, smiling and proud as they watched him cracking jokes and earnestly discussing plans for after school with the other four students there. And as he shot carefully concealed, bashful looks at the girl standing next to him.

Lily Evans, the Head Girl and Ravenclaw prefect, radiant in the dress robes she must have just bought for the occasion. Really a very beautiful girl, Albus mused thoughtfully; especially those fascinating, bright green eyes James seemed so infatuated with. They would be such a wonderful couple if it ever occurred to James to do anything about it. Well, all good things come in time. Meanwhile, she was going in for training at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It would be an ideal position for her, talented and caring as she was, and she had plenty of experience. During the latter part of her seventh year, she had become a sort of apprentice to Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. Lily could often be found hanging around the hospital wing, tending the myriad of illnesses and injuries that came her way under the watchful but approving eye of Madam Pomfrey. Most of which either directly or indirectly involved the handsome young man at her right.

Sirius Black had been James Potter's partner in crime from the day the two of them were sorted into Gryffindor. Albus often suspected that the two of them were somehow responsible for nearly all the pranks and other odd happenings around the school. At the same time, Sirius was one of the most brilliant young men Albus had ever run into, with an astonishing--if unexpected and, on occasion, illegal--talent for invention. The headmaster remembered all too well the day he had chosen to show up on the Quidditch field riding a flying black motorbike he had apparently "fixed" himself. Naturally, Sirius had been reprimanded harshly, but only between barely controlled snorts of laughter on the part of Madam Hooch, who was in charge of the school Quidditch tournaments. He had also put in an application to the Ministry. Now that Albus came to think of it, a large number of the students in the graduating class had ambitions to become Aurors, probably due to the increasing threat to safety in the wizarding world with the steady rise of the Dark Arts. Nevertheless, only a limited number would be accepted for training. About one of the other students standing in the small group, however, Albus had no doubts.

When he became headmaster seven years previous, Albus Dumbledore had been faced with an extremely difficult decision. Remus Lupin had been eleven at that time, and he had also been a werewolf for six years. The Lupins had written to him to plead their boy's case, and after careful deliberation, Albus had come up with a plan that would allow Remus to attend Hogwarts without visible risk to himself or other students. And so, for seven years, Remus had been taken out of the Hogwarts grounds to a secluded shack to transform every full moon. The Lupins had always been extraordinarily grateful to the headmaster for this reason, particularly Remus. He had shown little hesitation in confiding in Albus during the seven years he had attended the school, including informing him when his friends had finally discovered his well-kept secret, and when they chose to divulge it to Lily. This young man was his parents' pride and joy, but Albus suspected that he had never allowed himself to believe that. Dumbledore knew that the Lupins were unable to have more children, and he also knew that Remus felt he had to somehow make the years of pain caused by his lycanthropy, which, besides his incredible self-motivation, was one of the reasons Remus had always put so much effort into his schoolwork--shy, intellectual Remus, who would suddenly come out of his shell and become self-confident and assured whenever he was around the younger students. He would, Albus reflected, make an ideal teacher, with his quiet manner, patience, and untapped talent. However, he had also chosen to apply for the Ministry as an Auror, and there was no question that he would be accepted--if the Ministry officials were open-minded enough to look beyond the prejudice and horror that Albus knew Remus would face.

This brought him to the last of the cheerful circle of students--the round, nervous little Peter Pettigrew. Peter had never been nearly as talented as the others had, although Albus was sure he would eventually come into his stride, if given the chance. Peter had always been something of a puzzle to the headmaster, refusing to come out from the protective barrier he had drawn up for himself--Sirius, Remus, and James. Peter was still a mystery.

The headmaster had always wondered whether it was a coincidence that his select group of students happened to be the only students at Hogwarts, as far as he knew, who were aware that Remus Lupin was a werewolf. It had been inevitable that Remus' four best friends would eventually discover the truth, but Severus Snape had discovered it in a completely different manner. The Slytherin was, Albus knew, incredibly gifted at Potions, and also incredibly jealous of Sirius, Remus, Lily, and particularly James. Not too long ago, Sirius had deliberately let slip exactly where Remus disappeared off to every month, neglecting to mention the reason. No doubt out of curiosity and enmity, Severus had attempted to follow him one night. Fortunately for all concerned, James got wind of what Sirius had done, and managed to stop him in time. Dumbledore had been furious and, he maintained, rightly so. Severus had been sworn to secrecy, but the headmaster strongly suspected that he still harbored a grudge.

His thoughts were interrupted when the witch sitting next to him at the staff table cleared her throat loudly and rather impatiently. Albus started slightly, then glanced appreciatively at Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. She was extremely talented, having just perfected the Animagus charm herself, but needed to loosen up a bit, Albus felt. Turning back to the situation at hand, he rose to his feet to acknowledge the parents and students who were watching him expectantly.

"Good afternoon to all of you," he began in a somber voice. "I am absolutely delighted to see you here, especially considering the present circumstances. I would like to begin with a brief moment of silence in memory of the many Aurors and their families who lost their lives two days ago in the mass slaughter committed by the Death Eaters."

Instantly, a hush fell over the great hall. After a moment or two had passed, Dumbledore looked up again and continued.

"On a more cheerful note, I want to thank you all--parents, students, and staff--for the past seven years. As you all know, seven years ago, while you students were just beginning your time at Hogwarts, I was beginning my time as headmaster of this school. These past seven years have been the most rewarding of my life. Thank you again for your continuing efforts, commitment, and enthusiasm. Now, for the presentation of the diplomas. Allow me to present Professor Sprout, Herbology teacher and head of Hufflepuff house."

Albus waved his wand once and a podium materialized in front of the staff table, and then he moved to stand next to it. Professor Sprout walked up to the podium and picked up the scroll lying there. She smiled broadly at the audience and called out the first name. "Abressly, Megan!"

The headmaster joined in the applause as each of the Hufflepuffs walked up to the podium and accepted their diplomas, stopping periodically to shake vigorously each hand and smile at each glowing face. After the last student ("Wiverrtem, Adam!") had come to the podium, Professor Sprout stepped back down and took her seat. Albus cleared his throat. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house!"

The din in the Great Hall was nearly deafening as "Black, Sirius!", the first Gryffindor, stepped up to the podium, accepted his diploma, and grinned widely at the headmaster...and so it continued, until finally Dumbledore broke in. "Professor Sinistra, Astronomy teacher and head of Ravenclaw house!" The students filed past, one by one, leading up to "Professor Gregoram, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and head of Slytherin house!"

When all one hundred and twenty-two students in their brightly-colored dress robes had come by and one last round of applause was given, Albus cleared his throat once more. "Thank you all. We will now move on to the presentation of awards to the students, one for each of the classes taught here at Hogwarts, beginning with Ancient Runes." Dumbledore always enjoyed this part of the graduation ceremony. As headmaster, he approved the selection of the honored students, but none of the students themselves knew beforehand who was to receive the awards. He made way at the podium for Jerome Lucass, a wiry little man with a thin voice.

"This award is to be presented to a student who has shown exceptional effort and dedication in the subject of Ancient Runes, as well as a great deal of accomplishment. Would Gryffindor's Peter Pettigrew please come to the podium to receive his award?"

The Gryffindor table exploded, and a few of the students reached out to push the stunned Peter Pettigrew from his chair and in the direction of the staff table. With a look of frozen incredulity on his face, Peter staggered hesitantly to the podium and accepted his certificate and medal, nearly dropping them when he shook Dumbledore's hand. Sirius leapt up to the table as he approached to shake his hand even more vigorously, grinning widely at Peter's delight and surprise.

The awards moved on, until they came to Charms. Professor Flitwick stepped up to the podium, frowned, and levitated himself several feet into the air so he could see the audience. "The student we have selected to receive the award for Charms has demonstrated a great ability in this field and chosen to apply themselves far beyond the usual classroom expectations. Will Ravenclaw's Lily Evans please step forward to receive her award?"

Lily did so, blushing at the crowd's appreciative applause, and the awards moved on. Defense against the Dark Arts was taken by Remus Lupin (to no-one's surprise, but to Severus Snape's apparent resentment), earning one of Professor Gregoram's rare smiles of approval. Sirius Black recieved an award for Herbology, Snape took Potions (accepting his medal and certificate with his customary indifference), and, finally, James Potter was announced recipient of the award for Transfiguration. As Professor McGonagall took her seat, Albus stood behind the podium and raised a hand to quiet the thunderous applause.

"Thank you all," he said with a smile, "and congratulations to the recipients of each of the various awards. We have two more events on the program, and those are the traditional speeches by the graduating Head Boy and Girl. Once again, I would like to invite Lily Evans to come to the podium."

Lily's speech was typical of her dynamic personality--humorous, witty, but also obviously heartfelt--and was well recieved by the audience. She thanked in turn the staff, teachers, parents, and other students who "made my years at Hogwarts what are likely to be the best of my life." When her speech was done, she stepped down from the podium to make way for James. Dumbledore didn't miss the quick wink the young man threw back towards Sirius, Remus, and Peter as he stood up from the Gryffindor table.

The speech began on an unusually serious note. James commented on the "dark days" that were before them, but expressed confidence in the wizarding community's ability to come together to face them. He credited much of this ability to the teachers, staff, and atmosphere they had all been surrounded with during their years at Hogwarts. He went on in this vein for some time, and, at the conclusion of a rather lengthy list of the attributes that Hogwarts had infused in the students (including responsibility, camaraderie, and morality), paused, looking the headmaster directly in the face. Dumbledore sighed. He'd been waiting for something like this, and the glint in James' eye suggested that whatever plan he'd concocted was about to be realized. He looked back out at the expectant crowd and continued, "and that is why, ladies and gentlemen, I have decided to offer this tribute to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" These last few words were shouted, and James raised his wand in the air. Instantly, the whole room was showered in multicolored sparks, all sizzling loudly and cracking, drowning out the shrieks from the house tables. By the time the smoke and the sparks had cleared, James was nowhere in sight, but everyone else began to applaud and laugh appreciatively.

"Thank you all!" Albus called over the clamor. "Students may return to their house common rooms and dormitories to pick up their luggage and other belongings. Again, we wish all of you the very best of luck in your future endeavors." He sat back down at the staff table, waiting for the hall to be cleared. Nearby, James materialized abruptly, whipping off a silvery cloak that he had been concealing inside his robes. Lily, Remus, Peter, and Sirius were running from their tables to congratulate him. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, watching, obviously torn between disapproval and hilarity. She eventually gave in and walked over to offer her congratulations as well. Dumbledore stepped around his chair to join them.

"Well done," he said in an amused voice. James grinned broadly. "Where did you manage to obtain that many Filibuster's Fireworks?"

"We bought out Zonko's on the last Hogsmeade weekend, Professor," Sirius explained, looking very pleased with himself.

"Ah," Albus replied. "As I thought. I must be going now, but good luck to you all. I have a feeling we will be seeing each other again very shortly."

He set off for his office, trying to ignore the unintentionally ominous sensation his words had caused.


	2. Chapter One: The Waning Moon

Disclaimer: It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Author's Note: Thanks, all of you who were kind enough to review. Nothing is better than receiving positive feedback! And constructive criticism, too--if you don't like it, tell me why, and I'll make an honest effort to improve based on your suggestions. Spelling and grammar corrections are welcome--my spell check's a bit messed up at the moment, and I can't always catch mistakes. Well. Enjoy chapter one! (Err...I had a little trouble coming up with this horribly cliche title for the chapter. It's supposed to be representative of the end of the Marauder's years at Hogwarts, as well as the obvious complications that ensue before the moon actually begins to wane...okay. I'm rambling, and I'm going to shut up now. Read and forget I said anything.)

The Waning Moon

The Gryffindor common room was noisier than usual that evening, packed full of students celebrating the end of term and others saying their goodbyes. Over in a corner, James, Sirius, and Peter were seated, playing a casual game of Exploding Snap, as their bags were packed and the seventh year boys dormitories spotless. They had to be, as McGonagall was coming around in a few minutes to do a routine end-of-term check. James frowned at the cards he held in his hand, but before he could begin to formulate a strategy based on Peter's recent move, they blew up in his face. An amused chuckle came from behind him, and he turned to find Lily looking over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in surprise. "Ravenclaws aren't-"

"Oh, shut up," she replied airily. "What are they going to do, give me detention? You were the one who told me the password, remember. I just came to say goodbye. My parents and I are leaving in a few minutes."

"You're going?" James queried, disappointed. "Aren't you at least going to stay until breakfast tomorrow? Nearly everybody else is."

She grinned at his downcast expression. "We have to. My sister's getting married tomorrow afternoon, and we have to be there for the wedding." She hesitated. "She was rather upset about my parents coming here for the day. She wanted them at home."

"Well, you have something important going on, too," Sirius put in defensively, shuffling the cards carefully.

"I know, and she knows that, too. I just can't figure Petunia out. She seems to resent me, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Who's she getting married to?" James asked.

Lily gave him a rather pained look. "His name is Vernon Dursley. I suppose she must see something in him, but I think he's rude, self-centered, and close-minded. I can't imagine them having children--he doesn't seem like the type to be a very involved father. He has no patience for children. It's horrible."

Peter took the deck from Sirius and began dealing out the cards into three piles. Lily looked down at them and then back at Peter, puzzled. "Where's Remus?"

"Shrieking shack," Peter said in a low voice.

Lily nodded. "Is that why you three are staying?"

"Partially," Sirius explained, picking up his cards. "But we can't go down there for a while. McGonagall's coming around in a bit to check that the dormitories are clean and send everyone to bed."

Peter looked up in surprise. "Is it really that late?"

"Half past eleven," James informed him. "She won't let everyone stay up much longer."

"I'd better be going," Lily said reluctantly. "I hope I'll be seeing you all soon. Well...you all heard what Dumbledore said."

"Why did that upset him so much? He looked worried when he walked away."

"Voldemort, Peter," Sirius said darkly. Peter flinched. "If we make it as Aurors, we'll be attending Dumbledore's meetings, won't we? Like we heard McGonagall and Gregoram talking about."

"Well, anyway, I'll see you all later, Aurors or not," Lily broke in. She hugged Peter and Sirius, then James. Before turning away, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, grinning at the expression this provoked, and walked quickly toward the portrait hole.

James stared resolutely down at his cards, trying to ignore Sirius' coughs and Peter's ill-disguised amusement. The flush he could feel creeping into his face didn't make matters any better. Fortunately, he was spared any further embarrassment when Minerva McGonagall emerged through the portrait hole shortly after Lily left and instructed them all to return to their dormitories for inspection.

********

__

Why tonight? Out of all nights of the month, why tonight? It was so perfect until this. Absolutely perfect. It's beginning now. I can feel it coming. They didn't understand why I didn't want to come home with them...why I wanted to wait until tomorrow and take the train...but it's better this way. They go through enough when it happens while I'm home. Besides, it's the last chance we'll get. The last chance I_'ll ever get. After this, I'll be locked up again. That's the way it has to be. It's too cold in here...so cold...it hurts...._

********

Sirius smiled to himself. It was nights like this--with a light breeze and a cloudless sky--that made the whole Animagus thing worth it, even considering all the trouble it had taken them to figure it out; he never, _ever _wanted to spend that much time in the library again. But it had been worth it, and here they were, three not-quite-men hurrying across the Hogwarts grounds in the dead of night, the full moon casting a brilliant white light over them all. It was, after all, their last night at Hogwarts, and fitting that it should be so perfect. He brought the Marauder's Map up closer to his nose, and whispered "_Lumos_," holding his wand up before the paper. Hagrid was nowhere in sight--he must either be in the castle or at his hut. Sirius nodded to the others as they approached the misleadingly motionless Whomping Willow.

He fumbled in his robes to reach the inside pocket and slip the Map and his wand in. Like other magical objects, they would not remain with him during the transformation unless they were inside the enchanted pocket in these robes. He, James, and Peter had found this a bit of a problem until Remus came across the spell in a textbook and charmed their robes for them. It did make things much easier.

A second later, one of the figures on his right disappeared, and a gray rat was running through the grass, cautiously making its way to the base of the willow's trunk and placing its tiny paws on a knot there. The tree, which had begun to lash viciously out at the intruders, froze in place, and an enormous gap in the roots was exposed. James, too, transformed, and the stag awkwardly clambered into the passage beneath the tree. Sirius changed easily into the great black dog. Padfoot slipped through the roots with much less difficulty, and was followed a second later by the rat.

There was just enough room for them inside the passageway. Padfoot trotted forward in front of the others, Prongs following with his head bent toward the ground to avoid bumping his antlers on the roof of the tunnel. After a few minutes, they came to its end, and one by one climbed up into the Shrieking Shack.

Sirius always felt rather ill in the dilapidated old house, with the claustrophobic, shut-in sensation it seemed to carry along with it. Furniture was strewn across the floor, most of it in pieces. Old bloodstains could be found in some of the rooms, and dust lay thick on the parts of the house that hadn't been ravaged. He heard noises from upstairs and began to move up the rickety staircase, emitting a bark of greeting as he did so. When he came to the hallway and looked past one of the doors hanging ajar, he wagged his tail and trotted in to meet the werewolf that was there.

Moony had been waiting, and leapt forward playfully to catch him off-guard. Sirius shook him off good-naturedly and led the way back downstairs, where Prongs and Wormtail had remained. The four of them set back off down the passage once again, and in a few minutes, they emerged into the bright light of the full moon.

He decided to set the pace tonight. They hadn't made any plans, and tonight, they could just relax for awhile. Padfoot set off at a lope away from the castle, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze ruffling his fur. Behind him, he could see the werewolf running alongside the stag, whose long legs could easily keep up with the two of them. Wormtail was scuttling rapidly along in the grass, barely visible because of his size. Nevertheless, they were traveling along quickly enough to reach the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds within a few minutes. Padfoot waited a moment with the others for Wormtail to catch up, and then they all ran out.

The dark road stretching before them looked inviting, but it led to Hogsmeade, and it wasn't safe there. Even if the wolf didn't attack anyone, they would be seen. Sirius turned to the right and led the others into the thick foliage at the side of the road. Before they had gone too far, Moony stopped suddenly and looked back at the castle, ears pricked, and he growled softly at whatever he had heard. He cocked his head, listening, and then a gleaming light appeared in his yellowish eyes, and he started forward intently. Padfoot barked sharply at him, but the wolf ignored him. Prongs interposed himself between the werewolf and the road, lowering his antlers threateningly. The wolf hesitated, then sank onto his haunches briefly in submission, then reluctantly continued their earlier course. Padfoot looked a question at the stag, who snorted in reply, and then the dog broke off from the others to return to the Hogwarts grounds.

Sirius didn't like this. Nobody should be out here at this time of the night, particularly on the full moon. Everyone knew there were werewolves in the forest, as well as other Dark creatures. Of course, he technically shouldn't have been there, but that wasn't the point. He transformed quickly back into a human--making sure the wolf had gotten far enough away--and pulled out the Marauder's Map and his wand. Quickly scanning the Map, he saw his own name next to a dot just outside the grounds, and also saw two more dots inside the entrance. They were labeled Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

He moved forward quietly, and the two of them came into view. They seemed to be struggling to carry a large trunk between them. He carefully stayed out of sight, but managed to get close enough to overhear their conversation.

"What took you so long?" Malfoy was asking. "I'd been waiting for over an hour."

"I never asked you to come," Snape snarled in reply. "I could have left just as well on my own. At least that way, I wouldn't have attracted so much attention."

"What, lugging this thing behind you? What's in it? That can't all be your bags."

"I suggest you keep your nose out of my business."  
"And I suggest that you begin to show some respect to your superiors, Snape. You're going to need to."

"You're not my superior."

There was a muffled exclamation, and one side of the trunk dropped with a thud onto the road. "Why now?" said Lucius Malfoy's voice angrily. "Of all the times.... Come on. We've got to get somewhere we can apparate from."

"Where to?"

"My house. That was the plan."

"We can apparate as soon as we're past the entrance. I'll take my trunk."

"What made you think I was going to offer?"

"I didn't, but I don't want anything in there broken. Although it's probably too late for that, now that you've dropped it." There wasn't any reply. Both of the figures had made it to the road, and the first disapparated immediately. The other heaved the trunk up onto one end and disappeared as silently as the other had.

Sirius stood there for a moment, trying to make something out of the strange conversation he had just overheard. Nothing came to him, except that it was just like Snape to be sneaking around with people like Malfoy. Why was Lucius in such a hurry to leave? He shrugged, then transformed back into the giant dog and ran back off the road.

********

It was just after lunch the next afternoon, and Peter Pettigrew was standing in Hogsmeade station with all the other students, waiting for the Hogwarts Express. He was sitting next to James on one of their upturned trunks, talking with Remus and Sirius.

"We're supposed to hear back from the Ministry today," Sirius was saying excitedly. "I really hope we all got in. I've got nothing else to do if I'm not accepted."  
"You could start fixing motorbikes and cars for Muggles," James interrupted wickedly. Sirius grinned.

"There's a good idea. Now, why didn't I think of it?"

"You have a point, though," Remus said thoughtfully. "What if we don't get in?"

"You don't have anything to worry about," Peter said dismissively, unable to keep a touch of envy out of his voice. "Why wouldn't they accept you?"

"I'll give you one guess, Peter."

He frowned at Remus. "They wouldn't dismiss you because of that."

"Wouldn't they?"

"Not with your grades, and how you did in Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. I don't think anybody else has mastered the Patronus charm at sixteen."

Remus grinned at him. "I doubt anybody's mastered the Animagus transformation at fifteen before."

"Well, we can't tell them about that," said James practically. "Even if it is incredibly useful. Aside from the whole werewolf thing, I mean. Think about it. Dark wizards wouldn't think twice about a stray dog, or a rat, unless they knew it was actually a person. I wonder if Dumbledore's thought of that? Maybe McGonagall's spying for them."

"As Voldemort's pet cat, you mean?" Sirius laughed.

Remus stood up, staring at something above the village. "I don't think we'll have to wait much longer, not if all those owls coming are from the Ministry."

Peter wheeled around to see about seven owls, each carrying a small bundle of letters, swooping down out of the sky. All the other students noticed them, too, and began to chatter excitedly. They cleared a space on the platform for the owls to deposit their burdens, which they did, just before taking off again. Sirius pushed his way through the crowd, along with many other seventh years, and returned a moment later, carrying four letters.

"They're here!" he said, unable to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He handed them out to the others. Peter stared at the name written in dark blue ink on the parchment--Peter Pettigrew--and swallowed.

Before any of them could open the letters, the Hogwarts Express steamed into the station, coming to a halt with a shriek of its whistle. James leapt off the trunk and grabbed his own, and the four of them hurried towards the train, lugging their trunks behind them.

They managed to find an empty compartment and sat down, each holding a letter out in front of them. Peter looked at the others. "Who's going first?"

"I will," James announced decisively. He inserted a finger into the small gap at the envelope's corner and tore it open, then unfolded the parchment inside, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"Dear Mr. Potter," he began, "we are pleased to inform you--" At this point, he was forced to stop, as Sirius had jumped from his seat and pounded James on the back nearly hard enough to knock him on the floor. James tried to scowl at him, but didn't succeed, as he was already grinning from ear to ear. "Will you let me finish, you blockhead?"

"Sorry," Sirius said, and sat down again.

"Dear Mr. Potter.... We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for training as an Auror. Training sessions will begin on the 20th of this month. Please be at the Ministry headquarters in Diagon Alley, Room 421, at nine o'clock AM on this date. Bring only your wand. Thank you for submitting your application. Sincerely, Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"The 20th of July," Sirius repeated. He looked over at James, who was still grinning down at the letter. James turned back to Sirius. "You next," he said.

Sirius swallowed hard and ripped the envelope open. He quickly skimmed the first few lines. "I'm accepted!" Remus clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations.

"Well," James told him with an air of mock surprise, "good job--you must have done really well in Herbology to make up for that Divination mark of yours."

"Not necessarily," Peter put in. "It's not all based on grades. If he did well enough in the Ministry's aptitude evaluations, he could still get in. Considering that they didn't test us on Divination."

Sirius chose to ignore this and spoke to Remus. "Go ahead, it's your turn."

Remus looked composedly down at the parchment and carefully opened the envelope, unfolding the letter inside slowly. He read through the entire letter with a neutral expression until he reached the end. A small smile crossed his face. Sirius let out a whoop. "About time all that studying paid off, eh?"

"It didn't, at least not in Potions."

James laughed. "Only because the main ingredient in the potion we had to make for our NEWT's was aconite."

"That might have had something to do with it," Remus admitted wryly. "Well, Peter, are you going to open yours?"

Peter looked down at the envelope again, then held it out to James. "You read it. I--I don't think I can."

James took the letter, opened it, and began to read aloud. "Dear Mr. Pettigrew.... Thank you for submitting your application. However-" he broke off, blinked, and continued, reading it slowly and carefully avoiding Peter's face. "However, we regret to inform you that our training programs have been filled. Please consider resubmitting your name to us in the coming years. Again, thank you for your interest. Sincerely, Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Peter stared blankly down at the ground. He had wanted this. He had needed this. What was his mother going to say? She had always wanted him to go into the Ministry. She'd been overjoyed when he had submitted his application to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had insisted on telling everyone she knew that her son was going to become an Auror.

"Peter?" Remus asked gently. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he heard himself saying, and forced his face into what he hoped was a careless expression. "I knew I wouldn't get in. I did horribly in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you all know that, and I failed the aptitude tests."

Sirius took the letter from James and read through it again. "You know, you could still submit your name again next year," he suggested.

"Maybe. It doesn't matter that much. I can probably get a temporary job in some other department. I don't actually have to go into the Ministry at all, you know, I can find some other job."

James was staring at him with an expression of deepest sympathy. "Are you all right?"

_No_, Peter thought. _I'm not. You got in, all of you, just like you got on the Quidditch team, James and Sirius, and like you were top of the class six years running, Remus, and like you were head boy, James. And it's not your fault, so I don't know why I'm blaming you. No, I'm not all right._ "Yeah, I'm fine. Anyone up for a game of Gobstones?"


	3. Chapter Two: Constant Vigilance

Author's Note:

Parts of this are a bit choppy-those were written late at night. My apologies. This chapter has to do with the first training session, as well as a brief glimpse into the background of one James Potter, or rather his family's. Several characters we are already acquainted with appear. I made up the Potters' names, obviously, although I don't much like them. Suggestions are welcome--I hate coming up with names. Thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed! I know, the first chapter wasn't as good as the prologue was--at least in my humble opinion--(hey, I'm the author, it should count for something.) But anyway--yes, for those of you who mentioned it, this is going to lead up to Peter's betrayal, among other things that I'm planning. Sorry this particular chapter took so long--with finals and everything, my computer time has been seriously limited for the last few days, but now that's over, and I think I did really well on my Calculus test, if it matters to anybody but me! Anyway, enough of me, just read.

Disclaimer: Everything actually belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Two: Constant Vigilance

The Headquarters of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in Diagon Alley opened at six thirty in the morning on weekdays, and July 20th was no exception. Mr. Crouch was to attend the first of the training sessions for the new Hogwarts graduates, as he did every year. It was no secret that he was submitting a proposal to the other heads of departments for approval that somehow related to the Aurors, particularly those in the new group of trainees; however, nobody was exactly sure what it was, just that it was obviously extremely controversial, judging by the debates that had already lasted nearly three weeks. Mr. Crouch was very tight-lipped about the proposal, and the press was beginning to cause a stir, despite the Ministry's efforts to keep the whole affair quiet until it had been decided for certain. In any case, the training was to begin today, and the whole department had been consumed in the ensuing bedlam resulting from this as well as a new string of Death Eater attacks in London.

Remus Lupin knew very little of this. Little more than two hours after the department offices opened, he was standing with the other prospective Aurors--most fresh out of Hogwarts--awaiting nine o'clock. All except for James and Sirius, that is, because they had both wandered off to look at the latest model of broomstick in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Remus had been interested to learn which of his former classmates were to be training with him. Frank Longbottom from Ravenclaw was there, as well as Megan Abressly, a Hufflepuff, Edith Swanson, a Slytherin, and William Nott, another Slytherin. He suspected that there were at least a few more people still coming, considering the number of students that had applied to the Ministry. Even if not all of them had been eligible.

Remus himself hadn't been at all sure that he was going to be accepted into the Ministry's training program, even with his top grades and Dumbledore's recommendations. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures knew what he was, as did the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Anything they knew, Bartemius Crouch knew. Especially if it involved one of his prospective Aurors. Remus had never met Crouch himself, but he knew that he was respected by nearly everyone at the Ministry, including the current Minister of Magic, Jonathan Prewett. From what Remus had heard of Crouch, however, he hadn't though it likely that he'd be willing to take a werewolf on as an Auror in training. Still, he had gotten in. Perhaps the Ministry wasn't as close-minded as Dumbledore had seemed to think.

His parents had been delighted, of course. That had been the best part of it. They never said anything in front of Remus, but he could tell that they were concerned about his future--whether he'd be able to get a job, start a family, and do something worthwhile with his life. That was the worst part about everything: the complete lack of opportunity available to a werewolf. It was obviously not as complete as he had thought. Maybe, just maybe, this would give him the chance to prove himself, and to start changing the minds of some of those who had been opposed to letting Remus attend Hogwarts to begin with.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of James and Sirius, who were apparently discussing the broom they'd just been examining.

"...not that we need anything special now that we're out of school. We can just apparate anywhere we need to go, or we could use Floo powder," James was saying.

"That's not the point."

"Have you taken your Apparating tests, then?" Frank Longbottom put in.

Sirius shook his head. "I've got it scheduled for next Wednesday."

"I'm glad they taught us how in school," Remus said. "Even if we had to go to Hogsmeade to practice. At least we have some experience with it now."

"At least, most of us do," Sirius remarked with a grin. James chose to ignore him.

"What's that?" Frank said, interested.

"Oh, nothing. Just that James here had a little accident during that particular Charms class."

"Go on...."

"He managed to splinch himself rather effectively. Both of his legs, his left arm, and all his hair disappeared. The rest was left in a rather untidy mess back in Hogsmeade. Eventually, they found the rest of him about fifty miles to the south, in a swimming pool at a Muggle secondary school. The Ministry had to wipe about thirty memories, as I recall."

"Sirius, you can quit it now," Remus admonished. "I think James is sufficiently embarrassed."

James was looking resolutely across the street, pretending to be interested in the advertisement for dragon livers an the apothecary shop window. He checked his watch, then looked up at the others. "It's seven to nine. Do you think we should go in?"

Remus stood up, not wanting to give Sirius time to start goading James on again. "All right." The others followed him into the Ministry offices. The first room was perfectly neat, with various decorative magical plants growing in pots. A witch was sitting behind a desk with a stack of envelopes next to her, busy writing on a sheet of parchment. She looked up at them and smiled.

"New trainees?" she asked. A few of them nodded, and she pointed to one of the doors that was labeled "Lower Level." Behind the door was a set of stairs leading downward, and at the far end was another door. A the ceiling and walls lit up as they filed down the stairs and opened the other door. The room beyond was large, with a minimum of furniture. The light seemed to come from the fireplace in one of the walls, but it was quite enough to light the room up brightly. About twenty chairs and desks had been set out in rows, reminding Remus of a classroom. Several cabinets stood against the walls. There was a large clock high on the wall facing the desks that told them they had five minutes until the first session began, right under which was a door. James turned to the others.

"Do we just wait?" he asked.

Remus shrugged. "I suppose so--what's that on the desks?" On each one was the name of one of the former students in a bright blue ink of some sort that seemed to change color subtly if you looked at it from a different angle. "Seating assignments?" He looked around at the names to find out who was still coming. "There's yours, Frank...Andrew McKinnon...Ravenclaw, right? And Shelia Penn...I didn't know she applied..."

"Snape!"

"What?" Remus turned to look at Sirius, who was staring with horror at one of the desks.

"You heard me, Severus Snape! What's he doing, trying to become an Auror? You'd think he'd be with the Death Eaters."

"Sirius, don't," Remus said in a cautionary tone of voice. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why not? It's true. I told you about seeing him with Malfoy the other--"

Remus cut him off with a furious glare. As if they needed any of the others in here to know they'd been sneaking out of the castle their last night at Hogwarts, he thought angrily. Sometimes Sirius acted like he had no common sense at all. Fortunately, because Frank and the others were looking rather curiously at them, the door opened again and about ten other people came in, Severus Snape in front. Sirius scowled at him, and Snape's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the people already in the room. Before he could say anything, the clock chimed to announce that it was now nine o' clock, and the door beneath opened. Two men stepped into the room.

One of them was very severe looking, with impeccably parted dark hair that was beginning to go gray at the roots. His robes were perfectly straight, although Remus thought he would have looked more in character with a Muggle suit on. From pictures in the Daily Prophet, he recognized the man as Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. The other man looked completely different. He was surveying them all as though sizing them up, tapping his wand on his thigh with one hand and thumbing his chin with the other. His hair was slightly long and a bit unruly, and his grim face was scarred and jagged, like it had been very inexpertly chiseled out of stone. Crouch cleared his throat to get their attention--rather needlessly, Remus thought--and spoke in a clear, precise voice.

"Please take your seats," he commanded, "according to the names on them. We will begin when everyone is settled." They did so, and as the students sat down at the desks, the names disappeared. "Thank you. My name is Bartemius Crouch, and this is Alastor Moody." A low murmur ran around the room at this. Alastor Moody was a renowned Auror, and most of them had read in the Daily Prophet about the many Death Eater captures he had been involved with. Crouch cleared his throat again, and the noise died away instantly. "Mr. Moody will be teaching most of these sessions, but I am here to oversee the first of them and make introductions."

"First of all, anything obviously confidential--I trust you all have the ability to distinguish such things--is not to be repeated outside this room. Noncompliance will result in sever consequences. Understood?" Everyone nodded. "Secondly, an Auror is a representative of the Ministry. If you do become an Auror, there will be restrictions and guidelines you must follow. It is best that you are aware of these before you begin training in earnest." He flicked his wand at one of the nearby cabinets. A door flew open, and a stack of rolls of parchment floated out, each settling on one of the desks. Remus took his and read the title: "Rules and Regulations of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Crouch continued, "I will expect you to read this by the next training session. It is vital that you know these guidelines. They will be updated regularly." Here he flicked a glance at Moody, who was looking rather sour about something. "Only by understanding the regulations the Ministry has put down to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of this Department can you work together as a unit. That is one of the most important goals we have here--to build a bond of trust and interdependence. We cannot succeed in our aims if we are striving to achieve individual objectives and satisfy our ambitions. I trust that you will all manage this admirably. On this note, I will turn the floor over to your instructor, Mr. Alastor Moody."

Crouch conjured up a chair for himself and sat down in the corner. Moody glared around impressively at all of them. "Right. I want to begin by telling you all that you're not here to be coddled. The Death Eaters and their leader are strong, there's no concealing that fact. Least of all from you people. It's not an easy time we live in, and we had better get around to facing that. You will not be able to hide from the things you will be learning about in this room. Eventually you'll have to go out and meet them face to face. I've done it, so I know what it's like. It's not easy. But that's why you were chosen, of course--because you showed your ability in classes and in the Ministry's examinations, and because Dumbledore's told us what you're made of. That's not going to mean any of the Death Eaters you meet are going to sit there and let you capture them. They won't hesitate to torture you for information, or to kill you. You've got to understand that. And if you're outnumbered, you're in trouble, no matter what your skills. That means you have to plan ahead. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

He bellowed this last at them all hard enough to cause Remus and some of the others to jump slightly. Mr. Crouch looked on impassively.

"Constant vigilance--that's the key. You've got to be focused and ready for whatever they throw at you." He was talking, Remus thought, as though there were a band of Death Eaters standing right outside the door. "You also have to have discretion. The Dark Lord has eyes and ears everywhere, so you can't go telling classified information to just anyone. There may be some cases in which it's better not to relate certain information to all the other Aurors, even if you're working alongside them. But if the information is vital to the survival of the group, you must be willing to give it up. Along with that discretion comes trust."

Moody jerked his head over to stare at Remus, eyes boring into his own. "Remus Lupin." Remus nodded apprehensively. "If you plan to work with these people, you've got to learn trust, and do they. You can't expect them to trust you if you conceal information that may quite possibly affect us all in the future. If you choose not to become an Auror and to withhold your condition, you may leave this room immediately, and I won't think any the worse of you. If you choose to begin training, you've tell these people what you are, with the understanding that it will remain in the strictest of confidence."

For a full moment, all eyes were riveted on Remus, including those of Moody. He swallowed. He couldn't tell anyone. He had kept it a secret for twelve years. The thought of revealing his lycanthropy to everyone else in the room--most of them people he respected and counted as friends--was inconceivable. And yet, Moody was right. If he couldn't trust these people with this secret, he had no business being a part of the group. He nodded again. "Very well." James and Sirius stared at him, taken aback. Snape let out his breath in a low hiss. "This will come as a shock to most of you--well, I suppose, all of you, really, except the people who already know...." He broke off, floundering about helplessly. Moody just watched him. Remus looked around at the expectant faces surrounding him, and then stated bluntly, "For the last twelve years, I've been a werewolf."

The expressions of his former classmates turned instantly from inquiry to horror. Some of them recoiled slightly. James looked down at his desk, and Sirius looked back at Moody.

"I hope," Moody growled, "that you will be able to live with this, Nott." Remus glanced over his shoulder to see the Slytherin's face. The look he recieved was pure revulsion. "I can't expect you all to accept this immediately. That's for you to deal with. I do, however, expect you to be able to accept it in time. Any questions?"

There was no reply. "Good. Mr. Lupin will, I'm sure, be willing to elaborate on this after class. I know from experience that the rumors surrounding werewolves are a lot worse than the truth." Remus couldn't help but wonder where the experience came in. Where had Moody encountered a werewolf before?

The Auror had already moved on. "For the remainder of this session, we'll do a quick review. Nothing too difficult--I just want to see how you all can deflect basic curses."

After they had cleared a space on the floor, Moody made them stand in a circle around him, wands at the ready. Without warning, he began shooting trails of sparks at various people in the circle, turning rapidly and moving on to the next after the spell was either deflected or had reached his mark. After a few minutes, Sirius was flat on his back under the effects of the Body-Bind curse, wand lying several feet away, and a few of the others had been disabled in various other ways. At one point, Moody whipped clear around to face Remus, and shouted, "_Stupefy_!" Remus was caught off guard but managed to duck the spell. He'd seen that Moody generally used a succession of curses in this situation, and was prepared for the next. Before Moody could bellow something else out at him, Remus threw a spell back.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

He heard the slap of wood against wood as Moody's wand hit the wall behind him. Remus froze, wondering belatedly whether they had been expected to retaliate or just to deflect the spell. Moody, however, grinned at him. The effect this produced was rather disturbing, as on the jagged face it came out as something like a grimace. "Simple spell, that, but effective. Good, all of you. Let's do this individually, and don't hesitate to shoot back this time."

The individual "duels" lasted until eleven thirty, at which point Moody dismissed them all, with the reminder to return the same time the day after next.

The moment they all made it out of the building, Remus found himself to be everyone's center of attention.

"So," Frank Longbottom began, in a low voice, "are you going to tell us what this is all about?"

"Just what I said. I'm a werewolf."

"For twelve years? How did you get into Hogwarts?"

And so he found himself explaining the past twelve years of his life to all of them, except the Slytherins. Remus suspected that Snape was currently relating the same tale--or the details Dumbledore had told him--from a very different perspective.

It wasn't as hard as it might have been, he supposed. They accepted his story without question, including his explanations of exactly what his condition entailed, including an emphasis on the fact that he posed no threat except when the moon was full. He still wasn't quite sure that he had convinced all of them, though, by the obvious trepidation on some faces as they said good-bye to Remus, Sirius, and James before returning home. Eventually, the three of them set off through the crowded streets to get some lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

********

James was halfway through the handbook Crouch had given them all when an owl flew into his bedroom window. Glad for the interruption, as the guidelines were not only detailed but incredibly boring, he removed the letter dangling from its talons and offered it a drink of water, which it accepted before flying back into the nearly black sky. He recognized the handwriting on the envelope immediately, and tore it open.

James,it began,

I see you haven't bothered to write. It's been nearly two weeks! I heard all of you were accepted--except for Peter. How's he doing about it? I can imagine how disappointed he is. Tell him I'm sorry if you see him before I do, will you? Speaking of seeing all of you, I have a feeling we'll be hearing from Dumbledore before long, like we talked about at the end of term.

Petunia's wedding went well. She looked absolutely radiant. I feel sorry for her, though. I can't imagine spending that much time with Vernon. As I said before, though, I suppose she must see something in him, and I'm probably being too judgmental. Still...no, it's none of my business, really.

I've started work at St. Mungo's. It's absolutely wonderful, even though I've only got the small jobs for now. I suppose that's where everyone starts. How are your training sessions going? They must have started by now. Weren't they supposed to begin today? Write back and tell me. I'm expecting your letter soon, mind.

Lily

That left him feeling rather guilty. He had promised to write Lily soon and it _had _been nearly two weeks. James stood up from the armchair and stepped out of his room, letter still in hand, and made his way downstairs. His mother were reading in the sitting room, curled up on the couch. She smiled up at him as he entered the room.

The Potters had been a very unusual couple, by all accounts. James had quite obviously gotten his hair from his mother. Vivian Potter had long black hair that she almost always wore pulled loosely back from her face, though stray strands were constantly pulling away from the rest. She had taught Astronomy for several years at Hogwarts before retiring when James had been born. Even now, she would spend hours outside at night with her magically enhanced telescope, staring up at the stars and planets and making notes. Although she didn't pretend to see the future through them, as did centaurs, her careful studies had other uses. For instance, the movement of the stars and planets had a lot to do with Herbology and the way certain magical plants grew--or so James had been told. He'd never managed to have a deep interest in her field of study.

Her husband, Dorian Potter, on the other hand, had been a physicist. Not many wizards bothered to learn much about physics--Muggle or magical--but Dorian had found the subject fascinating. After Hogwarts, he had studied for a short time at a Muggle university, and then gone to a specialized school that taught magical theory and the physics behind it. James knew even less about this than he knew about his mother's work, but apparently the study of Muggle physics and magical theory were closely related. His father had set off on a crusade to prove to the wizarding community that magical laws were closely related to the Muggle laws of physics--despite all former beliefs to the contrary--and to encourage training in these studies as well as their wizarding counterparts. His ideas had raised great controversy, but before they could begin to take hold, he had been killed in a completely unexpected Death Eater attack, which had taken place at a Ministry building where Dorian was delivering a lecture. James had been thirteen at the time. His mother had been devastated, but had managed to take care of herself and James as a single mother for the past four years. She had only recently begun to continue her work, and was currently in the middle of writing a book on the effects of the phases of the moon on the growth of certain species of magical legumes. Apparently, a wizarding publishing company was extremely enthused about this book, which it expected to receive rave reviews from the leading scientific magazines of the wizarding world.

"Aren't you asleep yet? It's after midnight."

James shook his head. "I've been reading through that handbook Crouch gave us. It's really long, and just as boring. I'm almost done, though."

His mother glanced down at the letter in his hand. "Who's that from?"

"Lily--I was just going to write back, actually, but I've run out of ink."

"I've got plenty in the cabinet next to the broom cupboard, if you want to check there."

He went out into the hallway and began rummaging through the drawers in the cabinet. "What are you reading?" James called back in to her.

"_The Amateur's Guide to Gardening_--I need to figure out what's wrong with those silverroot plants I've got in the back. They're withering away, but they're supposed to last until mid August, and watering doesn't seem to help," she answered, a slight frown carrying through to her voice. "How's Lily doing?"

"Fine, as far as I can tell. She's started work at St. Mungo's."

"Really?" He returned to the sitting room, where his mother had set down her book and was sitting up. "Good for her. Does it sound like she's enjoying it?"

"A lot," James assured her.

"All right. I'm going to bed, I've found what I needed. Don't stay up too much longer, will you? Just because you've graduated doesn't mean you're excused from sleeping."

"I won't, Mum. Good night."

"Good night, James."


	4. Chapter Three: A Tale of Two Letters

Hello, everybody! I'm currently on spring break, and absolutely loving every minute of it. No more Calculus....Anyway, here's Chapter Three. Some of it's in different fonts. If they are too hard to read, just let me know (and even if you can read them, let me know how you like it anyway, hint, hint), and I'll change them right away. I've actually begun to formulate something hazily similar to a plot. There's a surprise! Anyhew...hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter books.

Chapter Three: A Tale of Two Letters

Dear Remus,

I had hoped to hear from you by now, you know. How are your parents? Please be sure to thank your mother for the woolen socks I recieved last Christmas--I didn't have the opportunity to thank her at the graduation ceremony. Madam Pomfrey wanted me to tell you that the ointment she usually gave you after the full moon is available in most apothecary shops and medical supply stores on Diagon Alley, and to inform you that if you didn't take care of yourself she would have something to say about it.

Barty (be sure not to tell him I called him that--he does detest the nickname) has informed me that you performed admirably during your first training session, as did James and Sirius. I am extremely pleased with the fact that the three of you have been accepted. As I told you, I had feared that Barty would take your obvious potential into less consideration than the fact that you are a werewolf. He did mention that you had informed the entire class of that fact, as well. That took a great deal of courage, Remus. It was, however, necessary. I hope you haven't encountered any animosity among your fellow students because of it, although I suspect that there will be some uncertainty. That is to be expected. I am sure that you will handle it with your usual composure.

Minerva is, I believe, enjoying the relative calm of the castle without all the students, as are the other teachers who chose to remain here over the summer. Ever since you four became students, I have found myself greatly pitying the Head of Gryffindor House, who naturally must attend to all the scrapes that you manage to get yourselves into. However, I think we shall find that the calm will quickly progress into tedium, unless the coming batch of students proves to be as audaciously mischievous as the four of you were. I hardly think it likely. We shall see, on September the first. The intervening months will no doubt prove to hold more than enough excitement to make up for any absences, although I have no doubt that it will be excitement of a far graver sort. And, at last, this brings me to the real reason I am writing this letter. I do carry on.

As you know doubt know, I have been holding regular meetings of a group of witches and wizards who are both Aurors and others who have shown a desire and the capacity to be involved in the struggle against Voldemort, including many of the staff and teachers at Hogwarts. We work closely in affiliation with the Ministry. Both Barty Crouch and the Minister of Magic attend these meetings, as well as other top-ranking officials. This is no secret to the Dark Lord ant his followers, and so I feel no hesitation in sending this information by owl post. However, there is more information you will need to receive face-to-face, including the time and place of the next meeting. Such information cannot be sent by owl post, considering the risk of the owls being intercepted.

What I am trying to do, and unfortunately taking an excessive amount of time and parchment to accomplish, is extend to you our invitation to become a member of our little organization. The invitation is, of course, extended to James, Sirius, Lily, and Peter as well, and I would be much obliged if you would pass the word along to them, and I hope to see all of you at the next meeting.

This also brings me to something else--the matter of your friend, Peter Pettigrew. I am aware that he was not accepted into the Ministry's training program, and I deeply regret that fact. I know how much the opportunity meant to him. How is he handling the disappointment? I never was able to get to know Peter as well as the rest of you, as you know, but hopefully a place in our "network" will change that. Even if the Ministry chooses not to accept him, I know he will be exceedingly valuable in our efforts, and I think it may lessen the disappointment. Be sure to let him know that I expect him at the next meeting, along with the rest of you.

Take care, as always.

Albus

P. S.- Do you think you could convince your mother to send along the recipe for those meat pies of hers? She sent some along with the socks, and they were extraordinary.

********

The Crouch mansion was even more enormous than Sirius had expected. It loomed gloomily over the long gravel pathway and row of carefully trimmed fir trees leading up to it, as well as the handful of witches and wizards attempting to reach the front door. This process was made unexpectedly difficult by the pelting rain that turned the dirt imbedded in the gravel into mud and made the steps going up to the doorway slippery with freezing water. It wasn't right, Sirius thought, for it to be so cold in late June. Pulling the completely inadequate summer cloak tighter over his shoulders, he managed to work his way up to the door behind another dripping figure, who reached out to the brass knocker and banged it against the door. After a moment, the door opened, and they all were crowding into the warmth of the entry hall.

Two house-elves stood there, taking their sodden outer clothing for them and ushering them through the entryway. Sirius took the time to examine his surroundings as he went. The walls were lined with ancient-looking suits of armor, ornate tapestries, and a number of bronze statuettes that had been placed on waist-high tables. The corridors were lit by torches hung at eye level every few feet, and enormous oak doors led into other parts of the house. He didn't recognize the witch in front of him, or the tall wizard directly behind him. The house-elves eventually reached the end of the corridor and opened the doors there, allowing the still-dripping witches and wizards to pass through.

The doors opened onto a large, dimly lit square room that was filled with rows and rows of extremely dry and comfortable-looking chairs. About half were already occupied. As those on either side of him began to find seats and talk with acquaintances, Sirius stood just inside the doorway, feeling extremely uncomfortable, as he didn't see anyone he knew. Before long, however, a familiar face caught his eye, and he threaded his way across the small crowd to the other side of the room.

"Professor?"

Vincent Gregoram, the Head of Slytherin house and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, turned around in his seat. Despite his perpetually grim face and the intimidating air he seemed to carry around with him, Gregoram was one of Sirius' favorite teachers.

"Well," he said with the slightest of smiles, "if it isn't Sirius Black. And early, too. There's a surprise. I don't recall you ever being early to one of my classes, but sit down, if you like." Sirius took the seat next to Gregoram, wincing slightly at the mud and rainwater that he rubbed against the chair in the process. "I hear you've been accepted at the Ministry."

"I have," Sirius replied, "we started training yesterday."

"Who is teaching you?"

"Alastor Moody."

"Ah, Alastor--he'll be an excellent teacher for you. He'll work you hard, I expect."

"I think so, sir." At that moment, James, Peter, Remus, and Lily appeared, all just as wet as Sirius was, and sat down in the nearby seats.

James shook his head in disgust. "I don't _believe_ this weather. Oh, hello, Professor."

"And here's the rest of the infamous Gryffindor four, and their Ravenclaw counterpart." Gregoram's attention was suddenly taken by a tall man with shockingly red hair, who was waving an arm to get the Professor's attention. "If you would excuse me for just a moment...." He moved quickly through the chairs and people over to the man, who immediately began to speak earnestly at him.

"Who's that?" Sirius asked.

Peter spoke up immediately. "Arthur Weasley. He works for the Ministry, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He gave me a job for the time being, that's how I know him."

James looked surprised. "You got a job? That's great. When?"

"Last Saturday--wait a minute, there's Dumbledore." The headmaster was standing up at the front of the room and raising his arms for attention.

"Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, but it's time to begin. If you would all take your seats...."

The talk died down immediately, and Gregoram returned to his seat with a very preoccupied look on his face. "Thank you...we will begin, I think, with a word from our esteemed Minister of Magic. Jonathan, you had something to inform us of, I believe."

Dumbledore sat down in the front row of chairs, and Jonathan Prewett, Minister of Magic, rose to his feet. Sirius had never actually met the Minister, but he'd seen pictures in the _Daily Prophet_. He was a short, stocky man, with an open, friendly face and authoritative figure, but at the moment he was looking extremely upset about something. Beads of sweat stood out on his face, and his hands shook slightly as cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Albus. Now, I have some rather...unsettling...information for all of you. This afternoon, I recieved a report of unauthorized dementor activity in several areas near London with high wizarding populations. It is our belief that the Death Eaters have found a way of infiltrating the fortress of Azkaban." Sirius felt his blood run cold at these words, and a frightened hush fell over the room. "We at the Ministry are doing our best to put a stop to this, but at this point the dementors are also necessary for keeping our captured Death Eaters in check." Prewett swallowed to reduce the strain in his voice. "Any incident you feel may be related--no matter how inconsequential--_must_ be reported. You all know what the dementors are capable of. I shudder to think of the possibilities if the Dark Lord manages to break into Azkaban. Your help in this matter is greatly appreciated.

"Also, there has been another report of a Death Eater attack on a Muggle town. As the Department for the Magical Catastrophes is extremely short-handed at this time, we need several volunteers to investigate. It won't be anything too difficult, just take down statements, etc. Is anyone willing?" Several hands shot up into the air. "Thank you. Please see Albus or myself directly after the meeting for instructions."

"Finally, we have several new members to welcome. Most are currently Aurors-in-training, fresh out of Hogwarts. Please make them feel welcome and bring them up to date on any important information. Albus, that'll be all."

Dumbledore stood up again. "Regarding the recent dementor activity...." For close to forty-five minutes, he told them all about general information they had recieved from captured Death Eaters and several unnamed double agents, occasionally calling others up to speak. Sirius found that he could keep up with it very easily, and indeed had already known, or could have guessed, most of it. As the hands of the clock on the far wall crept closer to eleven, Sirius began wondering if it was ever going to end, and just exactly what was the point of this meeting. So far, they had done very little as far as resistance went, besides encouraging everyone in the room to keep their eyes open. It came as something of a relief when Dumbledore finally announced that that would be all, and they could return home. Sirius moved quickly to stand up, but Gregoram put a hand on his arm and indicated that he, as well as Lily, James, Peter, and Remus should remain seated.

"Wait," he said in a low voice, "They'll explain when this crowd has left." Gregoram didn't bother to mention who "they" were, Sirius thought, but, with a puzzled frown directed at James, he waited. It took a few minutes for the room to gradually clear up, until there weren't more than a dozen witches and wizards left, besides the Marauders and Lily. Looking around, Sirius realized that he already knew most of their names, even if he hadn't spoken to them. Crouch and the Minister remained, as did Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Gregoram, Moody, and--he noticed with an unpleasant sort of surprise--Snape.

Dumbledore looked pleasantly around at them all. "Very good. Barty, if you wouldn't mind, a smaller meeting area might be more suitable."

"Follow me." Crouch led them through one of the many doors leading out of the room, through a hallway similarly furnished to the others Sirius had seen, and eventually into another room. This one was just as dimly lit, but much smaller, although the fireplace was larger, and the armchairs looked even more comfortable. There were no windows, and the only light came from the fireplace and the candles that lined the walls. The outlines of several bookshelves could be seen behind these, with enormous volumes that had titles like "Grindelwald: a Study of his Methods and their Consequences", "Fighting Fire with Fire: Resisting the Dark Forces", and "The Origins and History of the Unforgivable Curses". They did little to endear Crouch to Sirius. Before he could get a good look at any of the others, Crouch was indicating that they should take their seats, and Sirius did so, finding himself between McGonagall and Remus. Nobody stood up to make a speech, this time. Dumbledore instead began in a very conversational tone.

"And here we are. I have a feeling," he said, "that some of you are wondering what exactly we are doing here. Yes, the larger meeting is done, but this is a meeting of a different sort. The other was purely informational. None of the information given was classified. We can be certain that the Death Eaters know all of this, and also that they are aware that we know it, so it is distributed to the general public." Sirius felt rather gratified. When Remus had told them about Dumbledore's letter, it had seemed far more important then the meeting had been. "Barty, is this room secure?"

Crouch coughed slightly in response. His voice was as near to outright indignation as it could be without losing any dignity in the process. "As secure as I can make it, Albus. It cannot be penetrated by listening devices, nor can anyone enter without my knowing it. The question is, can we trust the people who are already inside?" The question hung rather uncomfortably in the air, before Moody broke it in his usual growl.

"We can't ever be sure of that, Barty, and you know it as well as I do, but Dumbledore's vouched for these newbies, and that's good enough for me to be starting with."

"If you'll excuse me, headmaster, I should be rather grateful to know exactly what we are starting." That was Snape's voice, exceedingly sharp and cold, but even Snape wasn't fool enough to be directly rude to the Minister of Magic, Albus Dumbledore, and Crouch.

"A thoroughly valid question, Severus." Dumbledore's voice became very businesslike. "Perhaps some introductions would be in order, for those of us who don't know each other."

A woman in her mid-thirties with dark brown hair and a firm sort of face nodded. "I'll begin, then, Albus. My name is Arabella Figg, and I work for the Ministry in both the Department of Mysteries and the Department for Magical Law Enforcement."

The man on the other side of her spoke up. "Mundungus Fletcher, Magical Law Enforcement."

"Edward Cole, Department of Mysteries." This was from a short man wearing midnight blue robes, who kept blinking around at them from under thick black eyebrows.

"Jonas McCaffrey, Magical Law Enforcement."

Dumbledore looked over at Sirius. "And our Aurors-in-training?"

"Sirius Black."

"Remus Lupin."

"James Potter."

"Severus Snape."

"There are two more who I thought should be included, though they aren't in training at this point. This is Lily Evans, who is currently working for St. Mungo's, and Peter Pettigrew, who has recieved a job with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "You will, I trust, have the opportunity to get to know each other very soon. For now, we will concentrate on exactly why we are here.

"As I said, the previous meeting was for the general public. This is not. This meeting is for a smaller group of individuals who are directly involved in the struggle against Voldemort." Sirius was surprised to find that, even here, there was a certain amount of discomfort associated with the Dark Lord's name. "This session will mostly be introductory. We will bring all of you up-to-date on the current situation and explain where you will become involved for the time being. We have decided that it would be best for each of you to be taken on as 'apprentices' for some of the more experienced of the group. Lily, you will be with Arabella. James, with Jonas, Peter, with Mundungus, Severus, with Alastor, Remus, with Vincent, and Sirius, with Edward. While those working with the Department of Mysteries, for instance, will not disclose their job information to all of you, your individual 'masters', for lack of a better word, will introduce you to their work within our network. You will be asked to gradually take on some of that work until you develop the skills to work individually. You will show them the same courtesy and respect that you have shown to the teachers you have had in the past."

This was followed by a brief period of silence. Sirius looked curiously up at Edward Cole, who was watching him with the same kind of interest, while still blinking every few seconds. The Minister's voice broke into the silence.

"Now that we have our introductions taken care of, we should probably move on to other things. As Albus said, this is only an introductory session, and we won't keep you here much longer, but first, I would like to say a few words regarding the dementors." Sirius leaned forward slightly in his chair to catch everything he said.

"The situation is rather more serious than I implied tonight. Large groups of dementors have been seen, and they reportedly attacked some of the Ministry's wizards last night. Fortunately, all of them managed to escape, but the next victims may not be so lucky. We are attempting to keep Azkaban more isolated than ever and conduct a thorough search, but it will no doubt be an immensely difficult task. Consequentially, I have spoken to Barty and Alastor about their classes, and we will be making sure that all of our prospective Aurors are properly trained in warding off the dementors. This may include several trips to Azkaban."

Lily let out a muffled gasp of surprised horror, and by the looks on James', Peter's, and Remus' faces, they weren't any happier about it than Sirius was. It seemed a necessary precaution, but one he'd much rather not have to worry about, especially because Remus was still the only one who could perform the Patronus charm to ward the dementors off.

"You two," and here Prewett was looking at Lily and Peter, "will also need to receive this training, though you are not involved in the formal classes. Any questions?" There was a moment of dead silence, and the Minister nodded. "Good. Albus, was there anything else? No? Very well. You are all free to go. Students, your mentors will contact you shortly." He stood and walked toward the door, followed by Crouch, Moody, and all the others except for Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"Is that all?" Sirius asked.

"All for tonight," Dumbledore replied. "Most of the meetings last longer. For now, you still need to get used to working with our system."

"System?'

"Our network of contacts, you know, and of spies."

"And, of course, there are those of us who just keep our eyes open," McGonagall put in.

"Around Hogwarts, Professor?" Lily asked.

McGonagall gave her a stern glare. "Don't call me 'Professor' in that tone of voice, _Miss_ Evans! I am, after all, only two years older than all of you. You make me feel like it's closer to twenty."

James laughed. "You have no idea how many times I nearly called you 'Minerva' this year."

"I can imagine. Headmaster, are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"I have a Portkey ready, if you care to join me."

"I think I will. Goodbye, then, all of you." They left the room, and Sirius turned to the others.

"How are you getting home? I have my motorbike parked out--"

He stopped, grinning, as the rest of them unanimously declined his offer.

********

June 25th

Dear Lily,

Hello again. How are you doing? In response to your most recent letter, the training sessions are going really well. Moody's amazing. He's begun to teach us the Patronus charm, you know. Remus is still the only one who's any good at it, naturally. Guess what his Patronus is? None of them have distinct shapes yet, really, but we asked him what he thought his was the other day. He gave me this really weird look--you know, when he wants to tell you something but isn't sure how you'll react--and said he thinks it's the wolf. I suppose that sort of makes sense, but still...anyway.

Have you met with your mentor yet? What's her name...Arabella Figg? I just got an owl from that Jonas McCaffrey. We're meeting at the Ministry building where we have our training, tomorrow evening. I don't know what exactly he plans on doing. Dumbledore was really vague, wasn't he? Apparently McCaffrey's an Auror, though, so I figure it'll be really interesting, whatever we're supposed to do. Introduce me to his job in the "network", as Dumbledore's so fond of calling it, I suppose. Peter said he's already met with Fletcher, and he's kind of weird. He wouldn't say much. Still, Dumbledore and the Minister trust him, and that counts for a lot. How do you suppose Snape's getting along with Moody? What I wouldn't give to see them trying to work together! I mean, Snape so obviously hates Moody. What were they thinking, assigning those two together? Oh, but you haven't been in the class with them. Snape just sits there, like always, and glares at Moody, especially when he asks him a question. It's a bit like he was with Gregoram. That's always puzzled me, come to think of it, considering that he's the head of Snape's house. But then again, Gregoram's the best of the Slytherins, as far as I've seen, and Snape's by far the worst.

Are you doing anything on Thursday? We don't have training that day, so I thought maybe if you were free, you'd like to come over for dinner or something. Mum would absolutely love to have you, especially since she hasn't seen you in awhile. I told her you'd started at St. Mungo's. She's still hard at work on her book, by the way. I've tried reading it, but I still don't see the point in knowing that Snapping Peas reach their fullest height if planted at the quarter moon. I suppose herbologists care, but I didn't think Mum was really into that sort of thing. Anyway, I should probably go. I have to leave for the Ministry offices in five minutes. Moody hates it when we're late.

James

P. S. - Have you found out when we're meeting with Dumbledore and the Minister next? We haven't heard anything. Be sure to write about supper on Thursday!

********

The following excerpt appeared in an article in the June 26th edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

An unnamed Ministry official was found unconscious late last night in downtown London by a group of several Muggles returning from a concert. They raised an alarm, but fortunately, before the Muggle police could be notified, several Ministry hit wizards arrived on the scene. The official had apparently been walking home after a late night meeting, and was, the _Daily Prophet_ believes, surprised by a group of Azkaban guards. He had been missing for several days. His condition is at this point unknown. The ministry has thus far refused to comment on the situation and whether or not the dementors were a likely cause of the incident.

Note: I recently wrote a VERY brief monologue called The Waiting Game--not my best work, but I was bored. Check it out anyway! Thanks to everybody who reviewed!


	5. Chapter Four: Imperio

AN: Hello, again, everybody! Thanks for the reviews. I finally got my Calculus test back--ninety percent, plus ten points extra credit. Naturally, that grade is wonderful, but I was really hoping to get five more points, which would have brought my overall grade to a ninety. As it stands, I have an eighty-nine, so B+ overall this quarter. Not that you needed to know all that.

Anyway--here is chapter four. R/R?

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Four: Imperio

Peter let out a barely audible groan as he exchanged his tediously filled-out sheet of parchment, which detailed exactly what some mad old witch had managed to do to her Muggle friend's clothesline (including a statement of how many memories had been modified after the clothesline had nearly succeeded in strangling half a dozen Muggles at a dinner party) for a blank sheet of parchment, putting the other in the "OUT" tray that was to be sent to the Ministry's extensive record offices. He dipped his quill for what seemed like the thousandth time into the pot of ink at his desk (which, to relieve the tedium, he'd painstakingly charmed to flash different colors) and held it, dripping multicolored ink, over what must have been the hundredth sheet he'd filled out in the last few hours. The squat little witch opposite him cleared her throat yet again and prepared to embark upon another rendition of the latest Muggle-baiting incident when the door flew open and Arthur Weasley's head, topped with its incredibly red shock of hair, stuck itself into the room.

The interruption was hardly unwelcome at that point, and Peter looked gratefully up from his work. "Mr. Weasley, is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, there is," the other man replied. "Abby, you can take off early today." This was directed at the plump witch sitting in the other of two chairs in the office, who stood up and stretched gratefully. "Pettigrew, can you come with me?" Only too willing to comply, Peter stood up, letting the quill fall back to the desk, further scattering ink over the parchment and his desk, and followed Weasley out of the office.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"I don't know. Mundungus Fletcher--you know him, works in the Law Enforcement department? He asked me to bring you over to his office. I was just going to tell you to take the rest of the day off, actually. We're nearly caught up on our records."

"Are we?" The note of relief in Peter's voice must have been audible, for Weasley gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Believe it or not, we are. About time things started to settle down--Molly's been complaining for days on end that I'm never home." Molly, Peter recollected vaguely, was Arthur Weasley's wife. "She has a right to, I suppose," he continued as they turned into another busy corridor marked "_Department for Magical Law Enforcement_." "We just had our third boy, you know." Peter did, as a matter of fact. Arthur Weasley was the epitome of the proud father. His office was covered in colorful, moving photographs of three children and his wife, and he never stopped talking about them. He didn't get much of a chance to do so this time, however, as they had just reached an office door, which the older man stopped in front of.

"This would be it," he said, waving a hand at the plaque on the door which read, "Mundungus Fletcher, Magical Law Enforcement. Have a good day, Pettigrew! I'll see you tomorrow, same time as usual."

Arthur Weasley turned back and walked down the hall. Peter reached out hesitantly to rap on the door. A voice called back out, telling him to come in, as the door was open. He pushed it into the room and stepped in, closing it behind him with a snap.

The office he found himself in was fairly large. The furniture consisted of a desk pushed into a corner (Peter noticed a multitude of cracks and burns on the otherwise bare surface), two armchairs, a wastepaper basket, and a small cabinet next to the desk. The floor, ceiling, and walls looked like they had undergone the same violent treatment as had the desk, besides the fact that the rug had faded from what had probably been a light blue to an odd sort of bluish-gray, and the creamy paint on the walls was flaking off. There was a faint, residual smell that implied that something had recently been burning. Peter tore his eyes from the cracked glass in the lamp hanging from the ceiling to look at the man watching him expectantly from a deep, plushy armchair.

"Sir? Err, Arthur Weasley said..."

"Yes." Fletcher leaned forward in his chair, peering intently at Peter. He was a short man on the plump side, with dark brown hair and sharp eyes. "You have your wand?"

"Of course. Sir, what-"

"We'll get to that in a minute. Come on, then." He stood up and walked over to the cabinet, pulled a drawer open, and extracted a battered but otherwise perfectly ordinary old glove, holding it out to Peter. He looked up at Fletcher in bewilderment.

"It's a Portkey, of course! Hold on to the finger. It'll go off in a minute...." And indeed, just as Peter was about to ask again where they were going, he felt a familiar jerk behind his navel and the world began to rush past him in a blur. A few seconds later, he came back to Earth with a rather unpleasant sort of bump and fell over backwards. Fletcher reached out a hand to help him to his feet, and Peter looked around.

They were standing inside a nicely furnished sitting room, completely devoid of the feeling of a battleground that had characterized the office. Before he could say anything, a short, plump woman wearing Muggle clothing stepped in from the next room, smiling pleasantly at both of them. "Hello, Gus," she said, "I'd expected you sooner. And you'd be Peter Pettigrew?" She stretched out a hand to shake Peter's. "Welcome, dear. You'll be staying for dinner?"

Fletcher coughed. "This is my wife, Ellis. Yes, he'll be staying for dinner, unless you need to be somewhere, Pettigrew?" Peter shook his head, and Fletcher rubbed his hands together as he looked back and forth between the two of them. "Very good, then. Ellis, we'll be in my study until then, if you need anything."

"Right. Dinner's in an hour, so mind you're not late." With that, she turned and disappeared into the other room.

Peter was still looking around the room, but noticed with a start that Fletcher was once again watching him impatiently. "Come on, then, we haven't got all day, upstairs now." He followed the other man up a steep flight of stairs and down a hallway, until they reached a rather large room at the end. It reminded Peter of Fletcher's office more than the sitting room had, with the faded rug and signs of spells gone awry. There were far more filing cabinets in here, though, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly they contained. He was waved to a seat, and Fletcher himself sank into another plushy armchair behind the desk.

"Well, Pettigrew, we didn't really get the chance to find anything out about each other the last time we met," he began. "I'd hoped to have more time, but then I got called back into the office, and there you go." He made a fluttering sort of gesture with one hand. "What I want to do is begin to show you exactly what I'm responsible for--not at the Ministry, naturally. You're in the Muggle Artifacts Office, I know." He broke off here to stare intently at Peter. "Arthur Weasley, eh? Likable sort, but I'm not one of his favorite people. I've been brought in on too many offences. Anyway. What I'm responsible for is the management of the information gathered by Dumbledore's Intelligence network. What you see here," and he waved a hand vaguely around at the cabinets that lined the walls "-is the compilation of several years of work, carried out by double agents and the few Death Eaters we've captured. I look over their statements and organize them. These cabinets can only be opened by either Dumbledore or myself. Obviously, we don't want just anybody looking through them. I'm to introduce you to the system, and show you how _you_'ll be responsible for gathering information, as well as storing it."

Completely nonplussed, Peter said nothing. Fletcher stared at him for another moment, then chuckled and removed a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, which he handed to Peter. "Right, then. Let me explain how this system works." He seemed suddenly to remember something and reached for the newspaper that was lying on the floor near his desk, placing it on top of the sheet. The date was June 26th, the previous evening, Peter noted, then looked back up at Fletcher's suddenly grave face. "Before we do that--there's something you ought to know."

********

Moody flicked his wand at the trunk, and it fell out of midair to the floor with a heavy thud amidst a shower of sparks, causing James and the rest of the front row to jump in their seats. He turned to fix them with his customary glare, eyes skimming over their heads to check for empty chairs. Finding none, he let out a satisfied grunt and nodded.

"Good--all on time. We're doing something a bit different today. We've had five sessions so far to cover the basics and get to work on the Patronus charm. We'll still be going at that, of course, until you all start producing something more than a wisp of smoke." Here he glanced briefly at Remus, then cleared his throat.

"The point is, I want to show you all how to use objects other than your wands in your work. That's what I've got here." Moody kicked the trunk that was lying sedately on the floor with the toe of one of his boots, and they all peered closer at it. There were seven keyholes rather than only one, but other than that it seemed perfectly ordinary. "There are also a number of tools I carry around with me, just in case. I'll show you those later."

He dug deep into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a key ring. Moody bent over and inserted one into the first of the seven locks on his trunk, throwing the lid open. James leant forward slightly in his chair to see inside. He saw an assortment of large tops, globes, mirrors, and other strange objects, most of which were glowing, spinning, or humming quietly. Moody pulled out the largest of the tops and set it on the floor, where it spun slowly in a circle, balanced perfectly on its point.

"Anyone know what this is?" He nodded at someone behind James, who turned to see Frank Longbottom lowering his hand.

"It's a Sneakoscope--they spin and whistle when there's someone untrustworthy around."

"Right," Moody rumbled. "This here's a very high-quality Sneakoscope, and very sensitive. The smaller, cheap ones don't always work as well. They'll go off for no reason, and half the time you're just trying to get them to shut up. Doesn't tell you much. Then again, even this one isn't always useful. Just because someone's concealing something doesn't mean that they're a Death Eater. Still, they can help. They're used sometimes to see if a witness is lying in court, although even if they're not lying, the Sneakoscope might go off.

"This," he continued, "is a little more reliable." He removed a globe from the trunk, also spinning slowly. Scattered around over its surface were about ten tiny, pulsing pinpricks of light, most of them gathered around the tiny blobs that were the British Isles.

"This is a tracking globe--you fix it to a person or object, and they'll show up here. It's very accurate, but there are ways of counteracting the spell that makes it work, so a person won't show up. The initial spell's also extremely complicated, and not always worth the bother."

After some digging around inside the trunk, Moody straightened up with a length of extremely fine, silver cloth, which he held up for everyone to see. "And this is an Invisibility cloak. You probably haven't seen one before," he added, oblivious to the look exchanged between James, Remus, and Sirius, and threw the cloak over himself. Some of the students gasped as his body disappeared, leaving only the shaggy mane of hair and the craggy face floating in midair. "They're expensive, these, but more useful than the other two. I'm still solid, mind you." Moody picked up the Sneakoscope to demonstrate. "That makes this difficult to work with in crowds, but it's still the best way to go completely unnoticed, should the situation call for it."

James doubted very much that Moody was referring to "situations" that took place after hours in the Hogwarts corridors.

For the next half an hour, Moody displayed a wide variety of magical objects, explaining how each was used, including a strange metal object like a Muggle television antenna and a bottle filled with truth serum. James was fascinated by his Foe-Glass, a mirror that stood a good five feet tall on a platform, in which he could see shapes moving threateningly. Many of the devices were restricted by Ministry laws, he remembered from the information booklet he'd been handed a week before, but could be used with special permission. At last, Moody packed everything back into his trunk, locked it, and sent it zooming out the door amid a shower of sparks. When he turned back to the class, his almost genial expression had disappeared.

"Now," he growled, "I should tell you that I won't be teaching the rest of today's lesson. Mr. Crouch is coming in instead."

A low, curious murmur arose, cut off instantly by Moody's glare. "_He_'ll explain soon enough." James had to wonder what had initially caused the tension between Crouch and Moody. Perhaps it was whatever Crouch was coming to say--Moody certainly seemed upset enough about that--but he had the feeling the animosity had originated some time ago.

"As a matter of fact," Moody continued with a glance at the clock, "he should be arriving any-"

As though on cue, the door opened, and Mr. Crouch stepped into the room, immaculately groomed, as usual. He flicked a cursory gaze over them and then turned to Moody, mouth curving in a taut smile. "Good afternoon, Alastor. May I?"

The Auror nodded. James didn't miss the tightening of his jaws as he seated himself in a chair that stood off to the side, allowing Crouch to become the center of everyone's attention.

"Good afternoon to you all. I am here today to introduce a new program that the Ministry has just established." Moody's scowl deepened noticeably, but Crouch's eyes were glittering with some sort of strong emotion--was it triumph?

"For quite some time, I have been working to have a law passed that would allow Aurors to use the Unforgivable Curses against Death Eaters." James stiffened in his seat. Surely Crouch was joking? Turning to look at the others, he saw his own astonishment mirrored in their faces. No, that wasn't quite accurate. Some--Slytherins, mostly--looked merely thoughtful, and Snape's' face showed no expression at all.

Crouch allowed a moment for this to sink in. "I have always felt this a necessary measure. As much as the Unforgivable Curses can be used against us, there may well be occasions when we have no choice but to fight fire with fire."

James raised his hand slowly. Crouch opened his mouth as though to continue, but then he looked sharply at James and nodded slightly.

"Sir, doesn't using the Unforgivable Curses just bring us down to the same level as the Death Eaters?"

Crouch's lips tightened even further. "There are those who think so, Potter. I am of the belief that it is better to use one of these curses rather than allow the Death Eaters to continue murdering innocent wizards and Muggles.

"As I was saying, the law has just been passed, after much debate. We will be teaching each one of you how to use all three of the Unforgivable Curses. The program also entails that you be exposed to them for brief periods of time."

"**_What_**?"

Crouch looked less than pleased at the interruption. "I mean just what I said, all of you. You will each be exposed to the Imperius and Cruciatus curses for brief periods of time. You need to know what you are facing. How can you expect to capture a Death Eater if you can't fight those curses off? The Death Eaters won't hesitate to use them. If you hesitate...or if you can't fight off the Imperius or Cruciatus...you have absolutely no chance. This is perfectly necessary and, I feel, a step that should have been taken long ago." Crouch paused, then continued, "Naturally, we will not expose you to Avada Kedavra."

_That goes without saying_, James thought. Even so, what on earth was Crouch thinking?

"I assume all of you have seen the curses in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

They all nodded mutely, and Crouch looked satisfied. "That is something, at least. We will begin today with the Imperius Curse--it's the easiest of the three, if the entity you are using it on is simple enough. We find that spiders work rather effectively." He raised his wand, muttered something, and flicked it, and a jar of spiders appeared in midair. "Would you all, one by one, come forward and take a spider? These are stunned already."

James did so, along with all the others. He couldn't help but stare at Crouch as he did so. The man was just standing there, a perfectly composed look on his face, telling them all to pick up a spider and learn to do something that, under ordinary circumstances, would earn each of them Azkaban for life. How could he be so calm about it?

In a few moments, every one of them was seated at their respective desks, a limp spider lying in front of them. Moody still sat against the wall, watching the proceedings from underneath his narrowed eyebrows. Crouch swept his gaze over them all and reached into the jar for the last spider. The jar slowly floated to the floor, but he let the spider hang in midair.

"I will demonstrate first. _Ennervate!_"

The spider twitched several times, and then it began to scuttle around rapidly, hanging several feet from the ground. It looked as though it was set onto an invisible table.

"_Imperio!_"

The spider froze immediately. Crouch let his wand twitch slightly, and it stood up on two of its eight legs. James watched as Crouch forced it through a series of cartwheels and summersaults. After a moment, he lowered his wand, and the spider twitched violently and again set about feeling its way randomly through midair.

"_Stupefy!_" Crouch replaced the spider in the jar, then turned back to face them. "Abressley, you first."

The whole class watched attentively as each of them in turn attempted to put the spell on their spiders. Sirius did rather well. His spider froze for a moment, just like Crouch's had, and he managed to make it take a step forward before the spell disintegrated. Remus didn't get any response at all--although by the look on his face, James wasn't sure he had wanted to. Eventually, Crouch came around to his desk.

"_Ennervate_." He considered the spider for a moment as it felt its way along his desk, then concentrated as hard as he could, trying not to think of what he was doing. "_Imperio_."

The spider froze on his desk. James took a deep breath, then whispered under his breath, "Take a step forward."

Nothing. He watched the spider for another moment, then repeated his words. "Take a step forward."

Slowly, the spider's leg extended itself into the air. It wavered there for a moment before coming to rest on the desk. "Take another step." It did so, more readily this time. "And another. Again." Within a minute, he had managed to make it walk slowly across the surface of his desk, and then his control broke. He raised his wand and stunned the spider again, then looked up.

"Very good, Potter." Crouch was watching him appraisingly. He turned and went to the next desk.

James shuddered slightly. It had felt so strange, knowing that he could make it do whatever he wanted. Well, with a little more practice, he could. He swallowed and turned to see Crouch standing over Snape's desk.

"_Imperio!_"

The spider stopped moving. Snape muttered something, and it immediately scuttled across the desk. He turned it around and forced it to run in figure eights for a few moments before leisurely raising his wand and stunning it again.

This was by far the most successful demonstration since Crouch's. "Very good, Snape." Though James could only see the back of Crouch's head, his voice was very thoughtful. Snape's eyes glittered oddly as he sat back down. James looked over at Moody, who was leaning forward in his chair, a troubled expression on his face.

After all the students had had a try--some more successful than others--Crouch glanced at the clock. "That will be all for today. Be here at the same time on Friday."

He walked straight through the door under the clock. The students left one by one, more slowly than usual. James was last in line. He was just about to go through the door leading up to the main office when he heard Moody's gravelly voice behind him.

"A word, Potter?"

James turned around. "Yes, sir?"

Moody hesitated for a moment, eyes boring into James'. "Do me a favor and don't forget what you asked Crouch earlier, Potter. There are people who argue that we should use any means possible to stop the Death Eaters, but--just don't forget it. If we become like them, even if the Dark Lord is destroyed, he's won. Don't forget that. Too many people have."

Moody turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room, leaving James standing there, one hand holding the other door open, staring after him.

********

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius stopped walking away from the Ministry building and turned around, earning several dirty looks from shoppers who were fighting to get their way through Diagon Alley. It was always crowded at this time of day. The man he found himself looking at was Edward Cole, the Unspeakable from Dumbledore's meeting and his new mentor.

"Mr. Cole?"

The man blinked at him, nodding slightly. "You may call me Edward. If I might have a moment of your time...?"

Sirius looked over at Remus, who shrugged agreeably. "Go ahead, Sirius. I'll see you later!"

"All right, then." Remus waved and disappeared into the milling crowd, and Sirius turned back to Cole.

"If it is agreeable to you, I would like to speak with you."

"Sure, that's fine."

"If you would follow me...."

Cole let his voice trail off again and began leading the way towards the Leaky Cauldron. They went through the arch that led the way into Diagon Alley and stepped into the dimly lit pub. Sirius had to blink several times before his eyes became accustomed to the reduced light and followed Cole to a small table in a corner.

"Better. I haven't much time. We will need to meet again, soon. Right now I need to tell you something. Did you read yesterday's newspaper?"

"No, actually, I didn't."

Cole nodded and blinked from behind his glasses. "There was an article about a Ministry official found unconscious in an alley somewhere in Muggle London. Little information was given to the press. You are to know everything, Dumbledore tells me. The man's name was Simon Wiverrtem, another Unspeakable. He was taken to St. Mungo's. The doctors there said there was nothing they could do."

"What was wrong with him?"

Cole stared hard at Sirius, eyes no longer blinking.

"The Dementor's Kiss."


	6. An Arrival at the Ministry

Author's note:

My apologies for taking so long with this one. I've had a busy few weeks and repeated loss of computer privileges, as well as a bad case of writer's block. And I recently had an AP Calculus exam that completely drained all my mental resources. Anyway, enjoy...and **read the other story I'm working on alongside this one **(When in Rome), although that's a very rough draft and the writing isn't all that great yet--I'll revise it sometime. Maybe I should get a beta reader--any suggestions? Read. Review? Please?

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Five: An Arrival at the Ministry

Remus pounded once again on the door, then backed up slightly to frown at the brass nameplate that hung near the road, gleaming dully in the fading light despite the raindrops trickling steadily across its face. He waited a moment before extending his hand to knock yet again, but the knob turned and the door swung slowly open.

"Ah, it _is_ you. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"That's perfectly all right, Professor."

"Come in, Lupin." Professor Vincent Gregoram stood back from his front door, holding it wide open for Remus to follow him inside. He did so, and the Professor let the door swing back again with a snap.

"I'm telling you, nobody manages it that smoothly on his first try," a gravelly voice was echoing down the hall. "Like I said before, Albus, the Potter boy was the only one to manage it half as well, and he lost control after a few seconds. That's a difficult spell, and there's no way he could have done it cold and make it look so simple."

Before he or Gregoram could say anything, Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody turned into the entry hall. Dumbledore's face had the familiar countenance of quiet calm, but there was a distant look in his eye. Moody stopped suddenly as he noticed Remus.

"Lupin? That's right...I had forgotten." He seemed startled and as close to embarrassed as the grizzled Auror was likely to get. Remus had a strong feeling that he hadn't been meant to overhear the conversation, although it wasn't hard to guess what he had been talking about.

Dumbledore's vacant look vanished immediately, and he gave Remus a smile. "Good to see you here, Remus. Alastor and I were just going."

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore turned with a sigh back to Moody. "I will consider what you said, Alastor." Moody's lips tightened slightly, but he nodded with an almost grateful look as he bent down to pull on one of the galoshes lying on a mat in the hall.

"Thank you for coming," Gregoram was saying. "If there's anything I can do, Alastor...."

Moody grunted, slipping the boot on the rest of the way and reaching for a second, which he heaved unceremoniously onto his other foot. "Keep your eyes open. That's all I'm asking, though you won't have as much of a chance as I will."

With a final nod, Dumbledore and Moody turned away to walk back out into the steady drizzle.

"If you would come with me, Lupin?"

Remus turned to see Gregoram heading off down the hallway. He quickly removed his own boots and hurried along the corridor, taking a moment to examine his surroundings.

Gregoram's home was neat, with a minimum of furniture and decorations, but pleasant enough to be livable. The floor he was walking on had no carpeting, but the wood was polished to perfection. The corridor was lined with a few portraits--most of them, Remus assumed, of family and close friends--and little else. They reached an open doorway leading down a flight of stairs, and they walked downward, the steps creaking slightly under their feet. They emerged into what appeared to be Gregoram's study. It was a spacious room full of tables and shelves, mostly cluttered with books Remus would have liked to get a closer look at. He reached backward to pull the door shut behind him. A mere fraction of a second later, he snatched his hand back with a pained gasp.

"Is something the matter?" Gregoram was looking back at him, a puzzled frown on his face.

Remus shook his head, biting his lip as he stared down at his palm, which was suddenly raw and smarting. Gregoram's eyes widened slightly in comprehension as he looked beyond him at the doorknob.

"Silver, of course. My apologies. Is there anything I can get you to help?"

"No, it'll be fine. I've gotten worse from my parents' silverware."

The professor nodded to himself, then took a seat, inviting Remus to do the same.

"What have you been learning in those training sessions?"

"Nothing too difficult, except for the Patronus Charm, but--we started the Unforgivable Curses today."

Gregoram's eyes clouded over slightly. "I had heard about that. Mr. Crouch has been wanting to begin such a program for quite some time." He paused momentarily. "What do you think of it?"

Remus hesitated. "I can see why it's important to know about them, and to learn what it's like, but I don't like being encouraged to use them."

Something of his other thoughts must have shown on his face, because Gregoram raised his eyebrows slightly. "You know how the Unforgivable Curses--at least, Avada Kedavra--originated?"

He winced slightly despite himself. "I know. That doesn't help, but at least that hasn't been mentioned yet, and I don't think anyone else in the class knows."

"It's not common knowledge, Lupin. But I'm getting away from the point. Have you actually started learning how to apply the spells you've learned?"

"Not really. We haven't discussed the actual situations yet."

"Then that's where we'll start."

Remus found the next two hours incredibly fascinating. They discussed applications of curses and defenses, and Gregoram explained exactly what an Auror's job was. They hadn't discussed most of it in class, such as gathering information and how to act on it. Soon after the clock struck eight, the fireplace suddenly burst into bright orange flames, interrupting Gregoram's explanation of the advisability of using tracking charms.

"Ah!" the professor exclaimed. "Right on time, as usual. Just a moment, Lupin." He stood up and moved over to kneel by the fireplace. "Jonas?"

A man's head had appeared in the flames. Remus recognized it as belonging to Jonas McCaffrey, James' mentor who worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Are you ready, Vincent?"

"Both of us are. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Right."

The flames died down abruptly and the head disappeared.

"Where are we going, Professor?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You can Apparate, correct?"

"I can."

"Come along, then, Lupin." Gregoram disapparated on the spot, and Remus picked up his wand. "_Apparo!_"

The room blurred and disappeared as an unseen force plucked him from it. In its place was a swirling mist of shapes, distorted and barely visible beyond the white screen surrounding him. The sting of the silver on his palm disappeared, and his body was no longer visible. Thoughts drifted randomly through his head, reflected vaguely in the shapes beyond the screen, and he brought them to rest on the Ministry Offices, focusing them carefully. The shapes became more solid and slowed their spinning, coming to a complete halt within seconds as the screen disappeared. Merely visualizing the offices to begin with would have worked as well, but he found this more reliable. Small visualization errors had been known to cause misdirection and, on occasion, splinching.

"There you are, Lupin."

Gregoram was already there, along with James, who was looking extremely excited about something, and Jonas McCaffrey.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"Remus Lupin, right?" McCaffrey responded. "We're giving you two your first trial run."

"At what?"

"At an encounter with Death Eaters."

Remus stared. "Already? We've barely started training--"

Gregoram nodded patiently. "You have, and that is why we are coming with you. The situation should not be extraordinarily challenging, and I have confidence in both of you to handle it well. We are, however, taking certain precautions. For instance, we are fixing an apparation point--here. This is important in every such situation, even for experienced Aurors. Should one of us give the command to Apparate, do so immediately, first fixing the office in your mind. Visualization is too inexact if you are in a hurry, as you will be, and if you wait to focus your thoughts and are injured, you may not be able to do so between disapparating and apparating. Understood?"

Remus and James both nodded.

"All right," said McCaffrey, glancing at his watch. "We've got time until we need to be there, so I can fill you in. The Ministry has been watching this particular group of Death Eaters for some time. Their comings and goings are pretty regular, even if they are concealed. There won't be more than two or three tonight, if everything works out the way we've predicted it, and we've got surprise on our side. The hideout is located in thick woods, so you should have very little trouble remaining hidden. Still, nobody take any chances. Either Vincent or I will tell you exactly when to strike. Use disarming and stunning spells only, unless it gets nasty. We want the Death Eaters unharmed--and we want you back unharmed as well. Think you can handle it? Good. We'll go now, and no talking. If you have to say something, whisper. Now, Apparate to 'Adam's Apple'. We give each location names to use. See you there."

In seconds, he was gone. Remus fixed his thoughts on Adam's Apple, whatever that meant, and whispered, "_Apparo!_" once again.

This time, he had no sooner seen the swirling white mist than a large apple tree materialized in front of him, along with Gregoram, James, and McCaffrey. Looking around, he saw that they were in a small clearing in a dense wood. It was quite dark by now, but he could still make out the shapes of other trees.

"Quietly now, and stay close," McCaffrey said in a low voice. He moved slowly away from the apple tree and towards a point in the forest that was slightly trampled down, leading them all into the woods.

James slipped in after him, followed by Remus, and then Gregoram too entered. "It's not far from here," the professor whispered.

Sure enough, they had hardly been walking for five minutes before McCaffrey stopped and motioned for them to get close. He pointed through the trees to a mound of rocks and dirt in another clearing. "Keep an eye over there," he said, "and alert us if there's any motion, there or in the surrounding area. Stay close enough to the ground that you won't be seen."

They spread out slightly to cover more ground. James grinned nervously at Remus, barely visible now that the half-moon was hidden in the trees. Remus returned the smile and turned back to the clearing, now down on his knees in the underbrush.

Well over a half an hour later, his legs had begun to cramp horribly, and there had been no sign of the Death Eaters, although several false alarms had been caused by various animals moving around. Remus had begun to wonder whether McCaffrey's predictions had been correct for that night when he saw James waving his hand, carefully concealed.

Gregoram, on Remus' other side, nodded back at James, indicating to Remus the large black shapes moving about on the edge of the clearing. Moments later, four people in black cloaks had emerged, heading for the rocks, wands aglow. They certainly were making very little effort to avoid being seen. He assumed they regarded this particular place as a safe haven, completely unknown to the Ministry's Aurors.

"A moment more," came McCaffrey's hushed voice.

"Now!"

This last was louder, enough so that the Death Eaters turned quickly toward the sound, whipping their wands out, but Remus and his companions had already moved.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Fascilius!_"

A jet of orange light shot out of Remus' wand, hitting the nearest Death Eater straight on. He just had time to see the man freeze as though caught in the grip of some unseen, enormous hand, letting his wand fall to the ground, before Remus had to duck to avoid the curse sent by one of the other Death Eaters. When he looked up, the smoke had cleared, and Gregoram was moving into the clearing, lowering his wand.

The whole thing had been perfectly timed. The Death Eaters hadn't had a chance. Two of them were lying on the ground, moaning dazedly, and one looked as though he had been stunned. McCaffrey bound those three and then followed Gregoram and James to the Death Eater Remus had disarmed. This one was writhing frantically, trying to escape the invisible bonds, but he stopped when McCaffrey pointed his wand threateningly at the Death Eater's throat.

"Morgan," he said in a tone of deepest satisfaction, throwing back the hood to reveal the petrified features of a handsome blond man. "You'll be interested to know that we've suspected you for some time. Are the four of you alone?"

Morgan nodded quickly, as though desperate to please. "I won't tolerate any lies, Morgan. Are you alone?" The man nodded again reassuringly.

"There's nobody else with us--we were going to meet the others in the hideaway--" His voice was shaking with suppressed anger and fear.

"How many of them are down there?" This was Gregoram, who had moved around to stand by McCaffrey.

"Only three--I think--"

"How do you enter the hideaway?"

"The password is _Andromeda_. There's a tunnel that opens and leads down--down--"

"Stop shaking and tell us, Morgan," McCaffrey snapped.

"Down to a door," Morgan gasped out, steadying his voice as best as he could. "You just open it and you can get into the only room."

"That's all?"

"That's all. What are you going to do with me?"

"Take you back to the Ministry, of course. Right after we pick up whoever's in there." McCaffrey turned to the others. "You want to go, Vincent? I'll stand guard while you take the trainees down."

"We will be back shortly."

As they moved to the rock entrance, Remus heard McCaffrey stun Morgan, who slumped unceremoniously to the ground.

"Quietly, now. _Andromeda_."

There was a crunching sound, and the ground seemed to melt away, revealing a tunnel leading down into the earth. At the end of it, Remus could make out a door in the light of Gregoram's wand.

"Strike immediately. We don't want them to have a chance to strike back."

He reached for the door and turned the handle.

"About time," came a voice from inside, "we--" Gregoram threw the door open.

"_Stupefy!_" Within seconds, smoke was curling up and down the tunnel to the loud bangs of six wands. Gradually, the sounds drew to a halt, and, coughing, the three of them emerged into the lower room.

There was one long table, strewn with papers and odd-looking objects, and several chairs. A lamp stood in the corner, lighting up the faces of the other three Death Eaters, every one out cold.

"Excellent," Gregoram said, smiling slightly. "Excellent work, both of you. Now, we need to get these three and the rest back to the Ministry. I have a feeling the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is going to be quite pleased with this." He waved a hand in the general direction of the Death Eaters and the paper-strewn table.

"Quite pleased indeed."

********

The following morning found Peter at the Ministry offices, again set to recording information, but this time, it had nothing to do with clotheslines.

"Look at this!" Arthur Weasley was saying, brandishing a sheaf of parchment at Peter and glaring at his desk, which was covered in more papers and notes. "We finally get our own records in order, and they assign us to filing for the Law Enforcement Department."

Peter didn't reply, although he certainly sympathized. He'd been listening to the man's ranting for the past two hours, and they didn't seem to diminish the overflowing stacks any more than Peter's efforts had. Instead, he picked up his latest completed work and blew on it to dry the ink. He really hadn't thought the man could get so worked up about anything, but at the moment, his face was quite red enough with fury to rival his flaming hair.

Fortunately, before Arthur's tirade could take a turn for the worse, there was a knock on the door. Weasley took a moment to compose himself before opening it. Standing outside was Mundungus Fletcher, who was brought up short completely by Weasley's face. Peter remembered what Fletcher had said about being brought in to the Muggle Artifacts office on charges, and assumed that was why Arthur Weasley was frowning suspiciously at the other man as though he, too, was about to bring more work for him. It turned out to be quite the opposite.

Fletcher cleared his throat and apparently decided to ignore the less-than-warm reception. "Arthur, I'm here to take some of that parchment those Aurors brought in off your hands for filing. If you would be so kind as to--"

He had no chance to get any farther. Arthur Weasley had already scooped up half of the stacks on the table and was pressing them into Fletcher's arms, although numerous sheets managed to escape along the way. "Take them! Take them all!"

Fletcher turned to stare, bewildered, at Peter, who shrugged. "I--err--I think that's quite enough for the time being, Arthur...thank you...." And, staggering slightly, he backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, losing more parchment as he did so.

Peter watched Weasley as he collapsed, gritting his teeth, into a chair. "Sir, have you--err--been getting enough sleep lately?"

The other man stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh weakly. The red had begun to fade from his face, although his ears were still a deep burgundy. "You know, I haven't. The boys have the flu, and Molly's been exhausted, and...." He trailed off. "Pettigrew, would you mind checking to see if there's any coffee to be had in the building? I could use some."

"I'll be right back," Peter replied, exiting with some measure of relief. As it turned out, there _was_ some coffee to be found, and he was just returning with a mug of it when he passed a wizard in the halls who was looking extremely lost. Upon noticing Peter, he turned to him, relief evident on his face.

"Excuse me...do you happen to know your way about the building?" he asked, in a voice that would have sounded much grander if it hadn't trailed out in a confusion at the end. The first thing Peter noticed about this man--who looked to be about his own age--was that he had extremely white (and extraordinarily large) teeth which were all bared at him in a semblance of a hopeful smile. By the time his eyes had adjusted to the brilliant reflected light, he was able to see that the robes the stranger was wearing were a particularly vivid shade of orange that clashed horribly with a peachy pink hat, perched precariously atop a head of nearly white hair that looked to have the effects of a bleaching spell gone slightly wrong.

Choosing not to comment upon that or the man's dress style, Peter nodded cautiously. "I work here, actually. Where do you need--"

"Oh, wonderful!" the man cried, grabbing Peter's hand eagerly and pumping it enthusiastically. "Absolutely marvelous! I can't tell you how much trouble I've gone through...."

"Yes," Peter said doubtfully, looking regretfully down to the coffee stains spreading through his own robes. The stranger didn't seem to notice. Unfortunately, with one hand holding the remainder of the coffee and the other seized in an all-too-firm grip, he was unable to use his wand to remove them. "Where was it you said you needed to go?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," the other said, having recovered his grandeur now that help was assured. "Immediately--it is, I assure you, extremely urgent."

"Right. If you'll follow me...." He began to lead the way down the hall. "Are you looking for a job with the ministry?" Peter asked, trying to make pleasant conversation.

"Oh, of course," the wizard said, as though it should have been obvious. "I will become an Auror."

"Have you been through the training program, then?"

The flamboyant stranger stared at him incredulously. "Training program? What need have I for a training program?"

"Well," Peter replied slowly, rather caught off guard by this reply, "you need to pass the ministry's training program first, you know."

The other man looked positively affronted, and waved a dismissive arm in the air. "I intend to pass no such program! I'll have you know that I have considerable experience in fighting the Dark Arts."

"Do you?"

"Indeed!" His gesture had changed now to expressive, and he began walking quickly again. "I am no stranger to the forces of evil." He waved a floridly-draped arm in front of Peter's nose. "I am--"

What exactly he was, Peter never found out. As they rounded a corner, the stranger's arm-waving distracted him enough to trip over his own orange robes, and he crashed heavily into Peter. The coffee grounds found themselves flung into the face of a startled Jonathan Prewett.

"Minister!" Peter gasped, completely mortified. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"Pettigrew!" the Minister of Magic replied, equally surprised. "That's all right, of course, but--who on earth is this?"

He was staring down at Peter's new acquaintance with a dubious look. The man was sprawled over the floor, pink hat sliding off and bleached hair standing out in all directions. He sprang quickly to his feet, grinding the coffee grounds into the carpet.

"Minister!" he cried exultantly, pumping Prewett's arm as enthusiastically as he had earlier shaken Peter's. "Delighted to meet you, sir, I assure you--absolutely delighted!"

"The pleasure is all mine," Prewett said generously, although with a slightly disbelieving look directed at Peter. "Can I help you in some way?"

"Actually, Minister, I was hoping someone could. You see, I would like to become an Auror."

"I see," the Minister replied. "You are finished at Hogwarts, then?"

"No, sir," the man said, "but I received a diploma from Beauxbatons Academy."

"Aahh--you aren't French, are you?"

"No, sir, I was a transfer student after two years of Hogwarts. I do speak the language fluently, however." He embarked on a long monologue that sounded like an odd combination of mangled French and something suspiciously like Pig Latin.

"Hmm...have you spoken with Barty Crouch?"

"I have not."

"Then if you would come with me, I can see if you can get enrolled in his training program. I need to talk with Barty anyway."

The stranger coughed loudly. "Minister, I am afraid that you misunderstand me. I do not intend to enroll in a training program."

The Minister stared at him, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. "Well, you see, you do need to complete the program before being hired."

"Is that so? Perhaps if I spoke with this Mr. Crooch--"

"It's Crouch, actually. Oh, Barty, there you are! We were just speaking of you."

The thin man approaching was, indeed, Bartemius Crouch. He gave each of them a long glance, taking in the would-be Auror's mismatched clothing and the coffee grounds on Prewett's face.

"Is that so, Jonathan?"

"It is, in fact," the Minister said, the amusement plain in his voice now. "This young man says he wants to become in an Auror, and we were discussing your training program."

The gaudy young wizard sighed dramatically. "There has been a slight misunderstanding, Mr. Crooch. I have no need of a training program."

"Where did you graduate from?"

"Beauxbatons Academy."

"Did you take any training courses after that?"

"No, but I have considerable experience--"

Crouch drew himself up intimidatingly, obviously displeased. "If you wish to become an Auror, you will first take the Ministry's prognostic tests. If you pass those, you will enroll in and complete my program before being hired. That is the usual procedure, and we make no exceptions."

The stranger looked about to argue, but Prewett coughed gently to prevent any argument. "That is quite correct, actually. I'm sure you will find the program exceedingly helpful--what did you say your name was?"

The young man drew himself up again, flourishing his pink hat and giving them all his widest smile. "Why, Minister, I don't believe I did. Allow me to introduce myself--I am Gilderoy Lockhart."

AN: Any guesses as to how Avada Kedavra originated? And did anyone catch the "mistake" I dropped in? Hint: It's something that doesn't agree with the HP books. Yet. It'll be important later on.


	7. Of Death Eaters and Dementors

Hello, I'm back with a new chapter, and the plot begins to thicken, and I'm going to attempt to mix a little romance in with everything else, horror of horrors(although not for a few chapters). Not Lily and James quite yet (although we all know that has to come eventually) and nothing too mushy--it sort of destroys the whole reign-of-terror mood, doesn't it? Still, it's integral to the plot. I would like to thank Episcopal Witch for her wonderful review, as well as the rest of you who reviewed (Trepidatio, Dunno, Aria*, and Laura, each of whom also had marvelous reviews). I am of the opinion that if all your writing is as well done as that review, which was excellent in that it actually explained what about the story you liked, you should post something. I look forward to reading any future works. Anyway, I digress and am in a particularly odd mood right now, so you have been warned. AARRGGHH! Why do I always end up babbling in these author's notes? I'm actually not a ditz in real life, if you can believe that.

Right. Sorry. So, in response to your review, Trepidatio, Remus' reluctance to perform the Imperius Curse actually has little enough to do with the origins of Avada Kedavra, but you're getting there in the essentials. I was wondering if anyone would notice the hints I slipped in--the "mistake" thing, I mean, for lack of a better term--but it was extremely vague, come to think of it. You'll find out eventually, anyway. I'm glad you like Gregoram, because his character is vital to the whole plotline I have worked out, and relates to the reasons--oh, I'm getting a year or so ahead of myself. Speaking of years, I've only gotten about a month's worth of writing (story wise) in so far, and I have to end up covering about five years. Do you have any idea how _long_ this is going to be? Some of this chapter is rather reminiscent of GoF, so you'll excuse me--same teacher, same subject matter; it had to come out somewhat similar.

Chapter Six: Death Eaters and Dementors

He was floating hazily apart from the world, the voice still echoing in his mind. "_A cartwheel, now. Do a cartwheel._"

A smaller voice was speaking in the back of his head. "That's really a rather ridiculous idea, isn't it? I don't believe I've ever done one before. Successfully."

"_Do a cartwheel_."

"You know, I'd really rather not," the other voice said thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I will."

There was absolutely no feeling in his limbs, but he knew somehow that he was raising one arm above his head....

"_NOW!_"

"Aahh!"

The nothingness disappeared with a jolt, and Sirius found himself lying on his back in a painful heap. The room swam back into view from behind the white fog that had sprung up around him as soon as he'd heard "_Imperio!_" echoing in his head. Moody grinned down at him and offered a hand up, and, as Sirius clambered unsteadily to his feet, he heard the chuckles coming from the rest of the class where they were standing against one wall. James was looking extremely amused, and Remus was quite obviously trying not to laugh. He walked up and sidled into the back row next to them.

"Shut up," he said good-naturedly in a whisper. "I didn't see you laughing earlier when Moody had you doing the can-can, James, and as for you," he jabbed a finger at Remus, "you can smirk once Moody's tried it out on you."

Any retorts they might have had were cut short when Moody began to speak to the class. "Not bad, Black, not bad at all. Nearly threw it off. Much better than _your_ performance, Nott." The former Slytherin's laughter cut off abruptly. "I see you've got the idea, then, Black--or is it just that you can't manage a cartwheel? We'll come back to you in a bit. Longbottom, you next!"

Frank moved toward Moody, trepidation obvious in his face, and prepared for the spell. Before Moody could begin, however, there came the precise sound of someone rapping on the door. Moody turned to throw it open, and in came a livid Bartemius Crouch. Trailing behind him was a figure that Sirius couldn't quite see clearly because of the simple fact that the blue-green robes he was wearing made his eyes hurt. He turned them to look at Crouch, where they found little relief. He was absolutely furious, although his displeasure was obviously under a tight rein.

"Alastor," he said without preamble, "you've got a new student." Crouch turned to the class. "This is Gilderoy Lockhart."

Sirius forced his eyes back to the person who had followed Crouch into the room. His first impression, once he'd managed to ignore the robes and the fluorescent green hat topping overly bleached blond hair, was of a young man approximately his own age, with big teeth, an unbelievably wide mouth, and rather large ears. He was smiling radiantly at his new classmates as though he hadn't noticed Crouch's expression.

"Right," Moody said slowly, looking Gilderoy Lockhart up and down as though inspecting him--without, Sirius noticed, wincing too obviously--and nodded. "Stand over with the others, won't you, Lockhart?"

The new arrival was only too happy too oblige. As soon as he had gotten out of earshot, however, Sirius, who was standing near enough to the door to hear the whisper, heard Moody speaking to Crouch.

"So he passed the tests?"

"Barely. I had to grant him admission. Unfortunately. Excuse me, Alastor. I'd rather not bear witness to his first class."

Crouch turned back to the door with a nod to Moody and to the class, rather more hurriedly than was natural, and was soon out of the room. Lockhart was standing in a corner, seemingly oblivious to the wide berth the other students were giving him, as well as their doubtful stares and raised eyebrows.

"Well," Moody growled, "you've arrived just in time, Lockhart. Right now we're working on dealing with the Imperius Curse. You can go after Longbottom."

Lockhart's smile, far from faltering, only increased in size. "Very well, sir." Moody turned to fix his gaze on Frank and raised his wand. Meanwhile, Lockhart had taken the opportunity to sidle along into the on looking crowd of students, shaking their hands vigorously and reintroducing himself. Again, he gave no indication of the staring and eye-rolling he recieved. While Frank was attempting to stand on his head, he managed to make his way over to James, Remus, and Sirius.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," he announced in an undertone so Moody wouldn't hear, as though they hadn't just been told his name. "Recently graduated from Beauxbatons Academy. Hogwarts, I assume?"

"Yeah," James replied, then gave Lockhart a sideways look. "Gilderoy Lockhart--weren't you in Hogwarts at one point, too?"

Lockhart nodded. "I did in fact attend Hogwarts for two years."

Sirius vaguely remembered the former Hufflepuff from his class, although he'd barely spoken to him. "Sirius Black. This is James Potter and Remus Lupin."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

They were interrupted by Moody's growling voice. "Lockhart! You next!"

The newcomer moved forward obligingly and enthusiastically. "I am ready, sir, for whatever this exercise entails! Merely perform the spell, and, I assure you, I--"

Moody swung his wand down with a grimace of disgust. "_Imperio!_"

Sirius watched the blank look settle over Lockhart's face with more than a little exasperation. How could he possibly have passed the Ministry's tests? He could understand Crouch's complaints completely, even if--

The door swung open yet again, and this time it wasn't Crouch. With a jolt of surprise, he recognized Edward Cole, his new mentor, blinking as much as ever.

"Alastor," he began, and Moody turned to him, wand still fixed on Lockhart (who posed on the toes of his right foot, his left leg stretched behind him, and arms extended gracefully above his head), "there's been an urgent call from the minister. We're supposed to bring along the four of them immediately, he said...."

Cole's voice trailed off expressively, and he blinked hard at Moody, and then shot Lockhart a puzzled look. The grizzled Auror turned back to the class.

"You can all go," he told them. "Remember, though, tomorrow at two. Don't be late. Potter, Snape, Lupin, and Black, stay here a moment."

He let his hand fall, and Lockhart crumpled from his pose. The students directed curious looks at Sirius and the rest, but they still hurried to leave by the other doorway. Lockhart, on the other hand, stood up to brush off his robes, and turned to Moody. Before he could inquire as to what had happened, Moody waved a hand dismissively.

"I have a meeting to go to, Lockhart. You can leave until tomorrow. Edward, is--"

Lockhart wasn't about to be brushed off that easily. "Sir," he exclaimed, "I have been forced into this training program quite against my express wishes--"

"Lockhart, you weren't--"

"--and now, to be sent away immediately after--"

"Leave, now. I--"

"I will not be treated in this fashion!"

"Son, this has nothing to do with you. Get--"

Edward Cole broke in tentatively. "If you would excuse me, Alastor, I believe the other Aurors are waiting. It _is_ a meeting of extreme importance...."

Lockhart's face cleared of self-righteous indignation. "Ah, sir, an Auror's meeting? And important, you say? Well, I would be only too happy to offer my services, if it would please you. I have considerable experience--"

Moody stared disbelievingly back at him. "Lockhart. Leave. Now."

He seemed about to argue, but a good look at Moody's impatient face was obviously enough to convince Lockhart that instant obedience was the best course of action, and he hurried out the door in the wake of his fellow students. Moody turned back to Cole, grimacing expressively.

"What on earth was Barty thinking? This is ridiculous. Edward, what's all this about?"

"I really have no idea, Alastor," Cole said, blinking back and forth between Moody, Sirius, and the rest. "But you should come quickly; the minister is waiting...."

"All right, then. Lead the way, and follow behind, the rest of you."

Sirius did as he was told, casting a last look over his shoulder to where the poisonous robes and their wearer had disappeared and trying not to snicker. The glint in James' eye told him that similar thoughts were occupying both of their minds. This was going to be very interesting.

His thoughts were cut off as he recalled exactly why Lockhart and the rest of the class had left so precipitously. What was going on now? Certainly not another--a cold shiver ran down his spine. There hadn't been another dementor attack, had there?

By now, the small party had reached the place Cole had been taking them. It was a room obviously used for such meetings--fairly large, with few furnishings besides the chairs set up in a large circle. Professor Gregoram was already there. He nodded to Remus with the slightest of smiles and indicated the seats next to him for James, Sirius, Remus, and Snape. The man Sirius remembered as Jonas McCaffrey, James' mentor, was leaning against one wall, a dark look on his face. He seemed extraordinarily preoccupied and hadn't made any sign of acknowledgement that James had come in.

"So," Remus was asking quietly, "do you know what all this is about?"

Gregoram shook his head. "I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure Jonas does. Not that he'll say anything until the Minister explains."

Sirius cast a look back at McCaffrey, whose face seemed to indicate that, whatever the news was, it wasn't good.

The door banged open, and Mundungus Fletcher stalked in, Peter in tow. Fletcher cast a grim look at Gregoram that was obviously supposed to convey something, but the professor just shrugged slightly in incomprehension. Fletcher snorted in disgust and turned to McCaffrey. The two of them proceeded to carry on a low conversation, none of which Sirius could hear.

Peter, meanwhile, had seated himself wearily near the rest of them. Gregoram raised an eyebrow at him, and he just sighed. "He got some sort of message--from Crouch, I think--and he got a bit upset. He's like that--goes off in a huff and won't tell you why he seems to be angry with anything and everything around him...anyhow." He turned to James, Remus, and Sirius, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "You've got a new classmate, then?"

"How did you know about _him_?"

"I met him earlier. Moody must be ecstatic."

Sirius let out a snort of laughter. "He only joined the class a few minutes ago, but that was quite enough to make a lasting impression, if you ask me."

The door opened again and yet another angry individual entered. This time it was Crouch, who looked just as livid as he had when he'd shown Lockhart into the classroom. Lily Evans and Arabella Figg followed at a safe distance, but Crouch paid them no heed.

"Gregoram!"

The professor stood up obligingly and turned a deferential look of mild curiosity to Crouch. "Sir? Is there a problem?"

"There is, Gregoram. One I should have been _informed_ of long before now. I have been profoundly disappointed in the amount of information you have recently--"

Arabella Figg spoke up here, and her voice carried little respect for Crouch's station. "What do you expect? He can't continue pulling it all out of thin air, you know."

Crouch stared at her, face going slightly red, but to Sirius' surprise, there was no reprimand for the interruption. Instead, he turned back to Gregoram. "I would like to know exactly what has been causing these changes."

The professor's face was perfectly calm and as closed as usual. "I'm afraid, sir, that it has been getting much more difficult, especially after recent events. The Adam's Apple incident, especially considering the captures, certainly did little to--"

"You will need to change that, Gregoram, won't you." It wasn't a question. Crouch had regained his usual calm control, and every word he spoke exuded authority.

"Barty," Arabella Figg interjected, "perhaps now isn't the best time...."

Crouch jerked his head around as though he had forgotten the younger students were in the room. "We will talk about this later, Gregoram."

James, Lily, and Sirius shot questioning looks in Remus' direction, but he looked as confused as Sirius felt. Sirius sighed to himself--it seemed his fate to overhear completely unintelligible conversations. Especially since he'd started working at the Ministry.

Once again, the door opened, and, fortunately, neither of the people who entered seemed particularly angry. Both Prewett and Dumbledore, however, looked distinctly apprehensive about something, and that wasn't an emotion Sirius attributed to either of them. He'd never seen Dumbledore afraid--although the look on his face wasn't fear, exactly, more like intense perturbation--, and Jonathan Prewett was known to be second only to Dumbledore in magical ability and judgment. Sirius felt his stomach knot up. What was going on?

"Right," Prewett began immediately. "If you could all take your seats--thank you. Now, some of you already know why I've called you here. Most of you don't. It's unfortunate that we were informed of this so recently, but it couldn't be helped." Crouch's lips tightened slightly, but no matter how angry Crouch had been with Gregoram, Prewett didn't seem at all to be blaming anyone.

"Early this morning, approximately twenty-three Death Eaters arrived at the fortress of Azkaban. They stormed the prison, releasing a great many of the prisoners and slaughtering most of the rest. The dementors offered little resistance, and all but two of the human guards that live near the island were killed.

"It was, without question, a planned attack. Everything was in order. The dementors had already taken care of the human guards--caught them by surprise, it seems. They knew exactly which prisoners were actually Death Eaters and which were either other criminals or innocent people accused of dealings with the Dark Lord." There was an obvious strain--was it guilt or shame?--in Prewett's voice. He took a deep breath and continued. "We had hopes that it was only a few of the dementors that had begun to work for the Death Eaters, but it seems that nearly all have already turned. They hold no concept of loyalty. We have known that for quite some time. Still, I had hoped--"

He stopped for a moment to wipe his hand along his forehead and swallow hard, and then Prewett raised his head to look at them. "I don't need to tell you how important this is. We need to get the situation under control as soon as possible. Alastor tells me you've been working on the Patronus charm and that a few of the class--namely, you four--are well on your ways to getting it under control, and I'm told that Pettigrew and Evans are doing well themselves. All six of you, in fact, are coming to Azkaban this afternoon, with trained witches and wizards, to try it on the remaining dementors."

The silence following this remark was deafening. Sirius could practically feel the tension and horror that everyone must be experiencing. What could be worse than this?

He was about to find out.

"There's more. We've received word that the Death Eaters aren't wasting any time now that they have the dementors with them. We hardly expected them to let the grass grow under their feet, but this--a small, largely wizarding community in northern Scotland has been completely obliterated. They set the dementors loose in the streets and, after they were done, went in to finish the job. What's more, it's known that at least two of our Ministry employees were on a brief holiday in that village--employees that had recently gained access to apparently important stashes of information relating to the Death Eaters' actions. It appears that the houses in which they were staying were not touched by the dementors until after the Death Eaters had had a chance to deal with the residents. This was undoubtedly an inside job. It was not coincidence. Someone is passing valuable data to the Dark Lord and his associates, and on top of everything else, we need to find out whom.

"So, you'll all be expected back at the Ministry offices at one sharp. We can't apparate to Azkaban, or use Portkeys or Floo powder, and it's a long flight; besides which, it'll be cold. We'll provide broomsticks, but be sure you have a heavy cloak with you. Don't plan on being back until late tonight. Your mentors and other qualified witches and wizards will accompany you. I'll be seeing you then."

********

Lunch at the Leaky Cauldron was particularly subdued. Even Sirius seemed much more restrained than usual. Still, even considering how necessary the trip to Azkaban was and how grave their situation had become, James found himself becoming unreasonably annoyed over the fact that Lily was supposed to be having dinner at his house again, and instead they would be spending their time being dining on depression.

Peter and Sirius were contemplating who the Death Eaters had used to infiltrate the Ministry. Remus had just broken in to point out that it must be someone who either worked in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries, as no one else could have known about the information the two Ministry employees were gathering.

"Will you three keep your voices down?" Lily demanded. "We don't want everyone in the Leaky Cauldron knowing about this, do we?"

The conversation continued in a slightly lower tone.

"Not necessarily," Peter objected, referring to Remus' earlier point. "Most of the Ministry employees already know about the whole Adam's Apple thing. They had us in the Muggle Artifacts department filing all that information you two found."

"But this information wasn't released yet," James said.

"Wasn't it? Prewett didn't say for sure."

"Oh, come off it," Sirius snorted, "why would the Death Eaters have gone through so much trouble to get those particular people if the Ministry already had their information?"

"What if they didn't know that yet?" Lily suggested, taking a sip of butterbeer.

Remus shook his head. "Anyone who knew that those people had received data and knew where they were on holiday--we've already established it was an inside job, haven't we?--would have known whether or not the information had been given to the Ministry. Especially if it _was_ an Auror or Unmentionable."

Their meals had arrived by this time. James looked down at his and found he had very little appetite, as well as nearly everyone else at the table. Remus had no such qualms and dug immediately into the enormous platter of steak he'd just been handed. He soon noticed the raised eyebrows and turned red.

"It's odd, you know, but I--well, this time of the month, I find myself eating rather more meat than usual."

Sirius let out something that was, unmistakably, an ungracious snort of laughter. Lily giggled, and soon James and Peter found themselves joining in. Remus just flushed a deeper shade of maroon, but the tense atmosphere had loosened somewhat.

After pecking at their food for forty-five minutes (with the exception of Remus, who actually managed to finish about half of the steak), the five of them left again for the Ministry buildings. All humor had left the situation, and James found himself gripping his wand tightly in one hand and reviewing the list of "happy thoughts" he would be using shortly enough, as well as recalling the feeble wisp of smoke he'd always managed previously. Although Moody had seemed pleased, he wasn't feeling entirely confident.

James soon found himself back in the same meeting room they'd recently vacated. Along with the students' mentors, Crouch, Dumbledore, and Prewett were there. He assumed they needed to get a better idea of the situation at Azkaban. He also recognized Minerva McGonagall and a few Aurors he'd never spoken to before. Everyone was somber and quiet, and so they talked little until Prewett stood up with a single, long broomstick in his hand.

"We're using a Portkey to simplify things. This one will take us all to a small place on the coast, considerably closer to our destination than we are now, where there is transportation ready for everyone. We have about thirty seconds. Everyone in position, please."

Much to his displeasure, James found himself between Crouch and Snape, but he had little enough time to brood on this. As Prewett counted down the seconds, the knot in his stomach tightened painfully, until he felt the telltale jerk behind his navel and was pulled irresistibly along by the broomstick. They fell back to earth with a thud. After extricating himself from the tangle of limbs and bodies (Crouch and Dumbledore were, miraculously, the only ones left standing), James looked around. They seemed to be in a small, dingy broom shed. Along the walls were at least three dozen brooms--more than enough for their group of about twenty. Prewett kept the Portkey, presumably his own broomstick, and ordered everyone to take one of his or her own. James poked through the brooms to find one with relatively good balance (though none of them were nearly as bad as the school brooms he'd used). He hurried to join Lily, Peter, Remus, and Sirius in walking out of the shed.

It was, he saw immediately, practically on the edge of a steep, tall cliff leading directly down to the sea. Peter, who had never been one for flying (or heights, for that matter), was gripping the broomstick so hard his knuckles were white. Sirius was actually starting to look excited about this; James assumed he was thinking more of the journey than of the destination. Remus just looked rather ill--probably motion sickness. They'd always teased him over the fact that he couldn't even use a Portkey or ride the school train without going green in the face, but at the moment, James could sympathize.

It was windy, and the sky was filled with dark clouds that seemed to have been imported for the occasion. Prewett had to shout to get his message across.

"It's going to be hard to keep together, so we're dividing into three groups. Follow either Barty, Albus, or me, and make sure you can see that person at all times. You won't be able to tell where we're headed otherwise. It's a long flight, but there's no other way to get to the guards' island. Mount your brooms!"

This last was louder, as the wind had just begun to pick up. They lined up at the edge of the cliff (James and the others kept close to Dumbledore) and prepared for takeoff. It was strange and, even though he felt at home in the air, frightening to leap off the cliff into the turbulent air, watching the sea and the rocks rolling far below you. Almost immediately, gusts of wind were fighting to blow him off course, and James found himself concentrating completely on following Dumbledore. They went quickly, despite the wind, and they soon had left the shore behind, indistinguishable over a backdrop of clouds.

Sirius was riding next to him, staring not ahead but down at the deep expanse of foaming, green-gray water. He looked sideways at James and said, loudly enough to be heard over the wind and the water, "Can you imagine swimming in that? The lake at Hogwarts is cold enough in autumn, but it's summer, and the water here has got to be freezing."

He had a point. The air, too, especially this high up, was cold, and he was grateful that Prewett had cautioned them to bring a heavy cloak. "It'd be easier as Padfoot, wouldn't it? I'm not sure Prongs could swim all that well. I've never actually tried." James was careful to keep his voice a level that could be heard only by Sirius, although it wasn't difficult in this wind.

Sirius nodded. "Not that I'd want to try it out here anyway."

Behind them, Peter was trailing along in the back of their smaller group. With a good-natured sigh, James dropped behind to give him a hand.

Their flight was largely uneventful, unless you counted Dumbledore's hat being blown off, despite the fact that he'd shoved it down to his ears. Retrieving it took them off-course for about ten minutes, even though everyone attempted to use their wands to bring the hat back. James found himself wishing briefly that he'd played Seeker--it would have been much easier to spot and grab the hat. In any event, it was Dumbledore himself that finally spotted it floating down on the waves, magicked it up, and dried it out with a wave of his wand.

Because all his attention was taken up by keeping his broom under control, James didn't bother to look at his watch until a small island with some sort of manmade structure on top of it. The watch told him that they'd been flying for just under four hours, which explained the cramping in his legs and the sore muscles. Dumbledore waved to all of them, signaling a descent, and they slowly dove until the whole party had reached the island.

The large house that was built there looked extraordinarily gloomy on the outside, but once Dumbledore had thrown open the door and allowed them all to come in, it seemed quite warm and alive compared to everything else. Even the signs of violence--presumably remaining from the Death Eater attack--did little to dispel the cheeriness transmitted by brightly colored walls, thick carpets, and the smell of hot tea and butterbeer.

A small man with short-cropped blond hair, thick gray robes, and a tired but welcoming smile greeted them as the door closed behind them.

"Hello again, Albus," he said. "Come along, all of you, the others are already here. We've got something to warm you up before taking you out to the fortress."

From the man's conversation with Dumbledore, James gathered that his name was Brimius Lacke, and he was one of the prison guards. Fortunately, he had not been in the fortress or on this island when the Death Eaters came, and neither had a half dozen other of the guards that were now here. Although there was an air of exhaustion and trepidation around the Lacke, he did not at all seem to be James' previous idea of the Azkaban human guards. He obviously had an ordinarily sunny disposition and, according to Dumbledore's friendly queries, a wife and children that he stayed with every other month. Indeed, the guard house itself was much more cheerful than one would think, and there were no signs that dementors had ever come here. James assumed the purpose of this was to make life easier in a place where there must be little happiness.

Not all of the guards were this way, however. While seated on one of the many comfortable armchairs in one of the enormous rooms, warming in front of the roaring fire and drinking hot butterbeer, James had the chance to examine the other guards, and most looked nearly lifeless. They spoke little, and their pale skin had dark rings under troubled, almost haunted eyes. Even so, there was a suppressed air of mastery about them. These were not people to be taken lightly. Nearly all were men, but two of the seven currently there were women. All were easily distinguishable by their gray robes.

All too soon, Lacke indicated that it was time to leave the warmth of the guard house and enter the fortress itself. They were led down a well-used stone stairway, immediately losing sight of the bright colors and well-lit corridors of the upper rooms. Below, the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks could be heard through the walls. Lacke, accompanied by three other guards, unlocked the only other door in the room and led them out.

It was similar to leaving the broom shed, except for the much greater proximity of the water and the cliffs towering above them rather than dropping away. Lily identified the small boat bobbing dangerously with the waves, only held to the dock by a length of thick rope, as a Muggle sailboat. The group was led onto the boat (which pitched uncomfortably beneath them) and below deck into a small, dimly lit room that was nevertheless larger than one might have supposed outside--plainly, some magic had been used to enlarge it. There was just enough room for them all to squeeze onto the benches lining the opposite, longer sides of the boat. James would have liked to see what was happening on deck, but only three guards were up there, Lacke included. The woman in gray robes who sat next to Dumbledore and Prewett said only (in a harsh, commanding voice) that they would reach the fortress in perhaps another hour because of the rough waves.

Nobody spoke during that whole hour. Sirius stared blankly at the opposite wall, Remus squeezed his eyelids shut and clutched at his stomach, and Peter gripped his wand as tightly as he had earlier gripped his broomstick. By the time the rocking motions had altered enough to tell James that they had stopped moving, he was sure his face was at least as pale as the female guard's. They were led onto the deck and then off onto another dock, and then the entire group found themselves staring up at the fortress of Azkaban.


	8. Chapter Seven: Expecto Patronum

Disclaimer: It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Author's note: Before I say anything else, some of you may be wondering about one of the reviews....I was logged in under my own name, and my cousin wanted to read one of my stories. She decided to review it, and, er...well, I have a signed review from "myself". I do not review my own stories, just so you know. Why should I? You wonderful people do a good job of it, yourselves.

Speaking of which, thanks for all the reviews! I apologize for the delay in posting this. Several things came up immediately after I returned home, including a family reunion I'd not been told about and several urgent essays that needed composing, and then the site was down, and then my computer wouldn't let me online for some reason.... Bleargh. Anyway, read, review, and enjoy!

**_I apologize for the state of mind I was in when I wrote this._**

Chapter Seven: Expecto Patronum

The cold air had suddenly become colder, but that wasn't why James found himself shivering as he stared up at the island, which was completely covered in the smooth gray stone walls. There was nothing that could accurately be called a window--just small slits in the rock every few yards, obviously used for ventilation--except at the very top of the tower that extended above everything else, where a light flickered faintly and James could just see someone moving about inside. He looked up and down the rocky coastline and saw only rocks and sand, until a patch of clear land caught his eye. A few patches of scraggly grass clung to life on the bare earth, but the things that made him start in surprise and horror were the small, regular stones, perfectly rectangular, that were set at intervals onto the ground. James shuddered instinctively and turned back to look at Lacke and the other guards.

Lacke moved in front of the rest, wand held in one hand. He walked quickly up to the stone wall, touched his wand to it, muttered something unintelligible, and then there was silence, but for the crashing of the waves and the wailing wind. Even these seemed strangely remote and detached from the scene in front of him. Suddenly, a narrow crack began to form around the point where the wand touched the stone. It spread vertically until it was nearly ten feet long, and then the narrow opening widened. There was a rumbling sound, as of hidden machinery (which James knew didn't exist). The rumbling grew louder and finally died away again, and before them was an enormous black doorway that seemed to radiate cold, leading into the heart of the fortress.

Lacke turned to them. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and very controlled, barely audible over the wind and waves. "Follow me, all of you, and stay together. _Lumos_." He glanced in passing at Dumbledore and Prewett--the intensity of his gaze was obviously meant to convey some meaning, but James didn't know what--and walked swiftly, lighted wand held out in front of him, into the blackness.

He stepped forward. The other guards waited until all of the rest had entered before coming in themselves. One of them must have closed the door behind them, because the same sound of hidden machinery came from behind them, and all the light disappeared. The only exceptions were the guards' wands, each of which gave off a steady glow, illuminating the corridor they had just entered, and the dancing flames of two torches mounted on the walls.

The walls, floors, and ceilings were as smooth as the fortress had been on the outside. They were walking along an otherwise empty corridor. Peering ahead, James could just see the end of the corridor where it opened into a larger room, dimly lit with more of the torches that were mounted every thirty yards or so along the walls. He risked a glance behind them and saw only blackness.

He'd fallen in place behind Gregoram and McGonagall, both of whom were talking in low voices. Dumbledore was on his left side, wand held out in front of him (lighted, as the guards' wands were) with a grave face. He seemed lost in thought. Sirius and Peter were on his right, both silent and staring forward. Lily and Remus were somewhere in the back of the group. McCaffrey appeared suddenly just behind him on the left.

"Potter--feeling confident?"

"Not really." Honesty seemed a better course than unnecessary bravado, and he did feel rather queasy.

McCaffrey nodded. "I've only been here a few times myself, and you never quite get used to it. Nothing to be ashamed of, Potter." His voice was much quieter than usual--barely more than a whisper. Still, it and the other low voices echoed oddly in the air, trailing away down the corridor to the larger chamber Lacke had mentioned. "How are all of you coming along with the Patronus charm?"

"Remus is the best at it, but Sirius and I can manage pretty well. They've started to take on shapes, but I still can't tell what mine is. I don't know how Lily and Peter are managing."

McCaffrey seemed about to reply, but they had reached the central chamber. It was a large, circular room, with enough torches to light it brighter than the corridor had been. Well over a dozen openings branched off in other corridors. Fifteen men and women, dressed in the same gray robes as the guards, were seated or standing in the center, where wooden chairs had been set up in rows. They looked up as Lacke raised an arm in greeting.

"These are some of the other guards," he explained in an undertone as they neared the group. "There usually aren't as many here, because it's usually swarming with dementors, but we've called more in for the emergency."

A tall woman with dark gray hair--the same shade as her robes--stood up from where she had been seated. She moved toward the group quickly and spoke in a clear, precise voice that reminded James slightly of Crouch. "I'm glad to see that you have arrived. Some of the dementors are still here. We now have the situation mostly under control, but you need to be careful. In groups of four or five, plus one of the guards, you are to make a careful search through the fortress. Bring any of the prisoners, unharmed, if at all possible, back here to the main chamber. Remember that any dementors you meet are as likely to be dangerous as not. Follow any instructions the guards give you. Above all, stay with your group at all times."

She turned and spoke in a low voice to Lacke for a moment, then nodded and indicated that they should break into their groups. James soon found himself together with Lily, Remus, McCaffrey, Gregoram, and the tall, gray-haired guard who had just spoken to them. She identified herself as Artemia Quirrell, the head guard at Azkaban. "We will begin with the east corridors," she told them as they left the chamber for the dark, cold hallways. "Remember to stay together. You all know how to cast the Patronus charm, but some are more adept than others. Take this into consideration whenever you approach any of the dementors. Follow me, all of you." She swept imperiously across the stone ground, quickly enough that James and the others had to lengthen their strides to keep up. He couldn't see the others' faces that well, except for Lily's. She was walking next to him, looking very pale, but she gave him an encouraging (if quavery) smile when he caught her eye. He glanced back at the central chamber, where the other groups had formed and were also leaving. Sirius and Peter were together--it looked as though Sirius was torn between apprehension at disgust at finding himself in Snape's group.

They turned a corner and were swallowed by cold and darkness, the central chamber no longer in sight. There were barred doors, now, that lined the walls. James could just see inside the grates--the cells were bare and empty.

"Miss Quirrell?"

She turned her head sharply to look at him, slowing her walk slightly. "Yes? It's Mrs., by the way, Potter. You are Dorian's son, aren't you?"

"Er, yes. I am. I was just wondering--where are all the prisoners? The ones who were left behind, I mean."

Miss Quirrell regarded him with a stony glare that appeared more habitual than expressive of disproval. "They have been temporarily removed from the island. The Ministry has them all in custody--I am not at liberty to disclose the details of their current location." She turned back to staring down the corridor.

James felt hesitant about continuing the conversation, but he couldn't help it.

"Did you know my dad?"

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that softened that hard face. "You wouldn't remember me, would you? He was my younger brother. I remember seeing you once or twice before I got married. Mr. Quirrell and I moved to the island you stopped at--we don't have much contact with the outside world. I really haven't bothered to keep in touch with your mother."

"Is your husband a guard too?"

She nodded. "He's at home now, though, with our son--we moved away from the island once Malcolm was born. Fortunately, we were all at our own home last night."

James lapsed into silence again as they turned another corner and continued in that direction. After several more minutes of walking, the sounds of their footsteps accompanied only by the quick, unsteady breathing of his companions, the air seemed to change, and he saw that, though there were several torches in the tiny circle of light created by their wands, they were unlit. The cold was not simply a lack of heat, here, it was a lack of everything positive, a sucking at his soul that robbed him of breath and any confidence he might have had.

Mrs. Quirrell slowed and stopped, but James, who was at the head of their party along with her, jerked to a halt. Lily, directly behind him, gasped as they collided, and then the rest of the group halted. James regained his breath and peered intently into the darkness, trying to make out whatever lay ahead, holding his wand out in front of him. Behind him, he heard Remus whisper, "_Lumos magnus!_" One of the pinpricks of light intensified to form a longer beam and widened until it threw the figures, no more than twenty meters down the corridor, into sharp relief.

There were four of them--tall, black-robed figures, that seemed to glide rather than walk over the bare stone. As they came closer, the cold intensified. Quirrell raised one arm.

"Come no closer," she called authoritatively. The figures paused and seemed to consider the five of them. Quirrell lowered her voice. "They may be no threat, but I do not want to take any chances. Wands at the ready, all of you."

The dementors--for that, James was certain, was what they were--had apparently made up their minds. They moved forward again, and there seemed a definite purpose in their steady glide. Quirrell exhaled sharply. "You three first. Vincent and I will take over if need be."

James closed his eyes and concentrated. His thoughts flew unerringly to the final Quidditch match of his seventh year--the championship game Gryffindor had won, and the elation he'd felt afterward. "_Expecto Patronum!_" He heard Remus and Lily repeating the incantation behind him, and opened his eyes to see Remus' beam disappear, replaced by iridescent strands of gray smoke.

"_Expecto Patronum_...." The dementors were closer, now, and it was getting harder to concentrate. He continued repeating the spell under his breath, and the wispy gray cloud began to solidify. Lily's voice continued to gasp out the incantation, but Remus had fallen silent. James was beginning to panic, even though he knew that Quirrell and Gregoram were ready to take over if it was necessary. Just then, he heard a sharp breath being drawn in from one of the people behind him, and Remus' voice bellowed the words out with an authority James had never heard before.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

A silver shape exploded past James on his right, and he made out four legs and a bushy tail as it charged, head on, for the dementors. He felt the cold evaporating, and his confidence grew. "_Expecto Patronum!_" His wispy cloud suddenly drew itself together and burst forward, just as a third Patronus leapt into view. The dementors fell back, but he scarcely noticed--he was staring at the silvery figure that had come from his wand. It had the legs, back, and tail of a horse, but a man's torso was set on the shoulders--a centaur, with windblown hair and a clear gaze. It turned its head back toward him, coming to a stop, and a smile touched its lips just before the figure evaporated into smoke.

It wasn't until then that he realized that the dementors were gone, having retreated into the shadows, and the torches were alight again. James turned around slowly to face the others. Lily was still staring after the dementors, but she turned her eyes to him and smiled. Remus was white-faced but quite obviously exhilarated.

"Excellent." That came from Gregoram, who was watching the three of them with a slight smile and a gleam in his eye. "You've all done extraordinarily well."

Quirrell, too, seemed more than approving. "I have no hesitation in saying that that was the best performance by a group of such young people that I have ever seen. I am impressed." She gave them a moment for this to sink in, then set off down the corridor again.

Lily fell into step between James and Remus. "I've never gotten a Patronus that clear before. What were yours?"

"Mine was a centaur. I don't quite know what that means...I've never met one."

Remus bit his lip thoughtfully. "It must have some sort of significance, though. Moody says each one is unique, and they relate to the person who casts them." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Mine was a wolf."

Lily reached out to squeeze his hand, whether in comfort, support, or approval, James wasn't sure. "Mine was some sort of bird, I think, but I'm not sure. I couldn't see clearly; it all happened so quickly."

James nodded. He wasn't feeling quite as apprehensive, anymore--he knew he could do this now. On the other hand, that didn't make the reason they were there any more enjoyable.

Despite their successes, everyone was only too happy to leave. Peter was very depressed, and not only because of the dementors. "His Patronus wouldn't form," Sirius told James in an undertone while they were on the boat, headed back towards the island. "Dumbledore was amazing, though," he went on, with considerably more enthusiasm. "He didn't even shout, and this enormous phoenix just exploded out of his wand...I didn't get it perfect at first, but I think I know what mine is--a hippogriff. Remember doing them in Care of Magical Creatures?"

"What do you think yours means?" Lily asked, clutching James' shoulder as the boat lurched violently.

"No idea, what about you?"

"I still haven't figured out exactly what mine was. James ended up with a centaur, and he says he doesn't know what that's supposed to mean either."

She smiled at him, bright green eyes close to his face (they were packed together tightly on the narrow benches), and everything he had been about to say died on his tongue. "What are you doing Wednesday night?"

She looked as startled as he did. Where had that come from?

"Er, I don't think I'm doing anything...."

"How about dinner again? I mean, Mum won't be home and I'm not much of a cook, but I could pick you up around seven and we'd go somewhere to eat...."

Lily stared at him, and then slowly smiled again. "I'd like that."

Sirius gave Remus and Peter a particularly evil grin.

********

Somebody was pounding on the door. Remus tried unsuccessfully to force one eyelid open. He gave up in a matter of seconds and rolled over.

"Remus, can you here me in there?" He let out a muted groan--it felt as though his head was about to split open.

"Moony!"

"Mmm." Whatever he was lying on was extremely hard and uncomfortable, but that didn't seem a good enough excuse to move.

"_Alohomora!_"

Somebody kicked at the door in frustration. Remus sat up slowly, wincing as pain shot across his back, and frowned.

"Remus Jefferson Lupin, if you don't come out of that cellar this instant, I'm going to break the door down!"

He stood up quickly and threw the robe, hanging high on a hook near the door, over his head, reaching for the wand in his pocket. He pointed it at the door. "_Delio_." The cellar door swung open to reveal Sirius, dressed not in robes but in a leather jacket and Muggle blue jeans, with one arm raised.

"My middle name isn't Jefferson."

Sirius shrugged, grinning at him. "Wild guess. What is it?"

"As if I'd tell you! What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you didn't tear yourself to bits last night, that's what. I was getting worried--your parents must have left early, and I couldn't figure out what spell you used last night to lock the door. But I told you yesterday, didn't I? You said you don't like to apparate the morning after the full moon, so I said I'd drop by and give you a ride."

Remus nodded. "I forgot. What time is it?"

"About ten to nine."

"_What?_" He pushed past Sirius, running up the stairs to the main floor. "We'll never get there in time, Sirius, and I'm not ready!"

"Take it easy. I've been late at least once a week. All Moody ever does now is roll his eyes and glare at me."

He didn't bother to answer, and fled instead to his bedroom, where he threw open the closet and started trying to find something clean.

"You'd better wear Muggle clothes," Sirius called from the sitting room. "I've tried riding my bike with robes on, and it just doesn't work."

Remus froze, a shirt pulled (backwards) over his head. "Your bike? You can't be serious."

"I am. In both senses of the word."

"Not funny. Sirius, I'm still not sure that thing's entirely legal."

"Neither am I. You'd have to ask Peter. Nobody from the Ministry's complained yet."

He emerged into the sitting room, pulling one shoe on and hopping on the other foot; the muscles in his legs protested loudly. "Ready?" Sirius asked.

"Just a minute." He'd learned a few useful spells for getting ready in the morning--using those, it only took another second or two to brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair. Following Sirius out the front door, he caught sight of the motorbike parked in the street, and his stomach shriveled up. "Sirius?" he asked faintly. "You don't happen to have an extra helmet, do you?"

Sirius gave him an affronted look. "Don't worry, Moony. I'm not _that_ bad of a driver. Forget about the helmets, just hang on tight." He straddled the bike and tapped the ignition with his wand, leaving Remus to clamber on behind him. The machine roared to life, vibrating oddly beneath them. "We're running late, but I've fixed this up with a nice Muggle repelling charm...kind of like the Knight Bus. They won't even notice us."

"What are you going to do?" He jerked backwards (grabbing onto Sirius' shoulders to keep from toppling over the back of the seat) as the bike began moving down the street.

"Just wait a minute...." When they got to the first intersection, the roaring noise changed subtly, and to Remus' horror, the motorbike rose several inches into the air.

"Padfoot...."

"Don't worry, I told you!" Sirius shouted over the noise. "It's perfectly safe. I haven't crashed yet. Well, except for the time...."

"Never mind."

By now they were well into the air, and Sirius adjusted their course so they were headed straight for downtown London. "Brace yourself!" The warning came only an instant before they were moving through the air at a considerable pace, Remus only just managing to hang on.

"Wonderful feeling, isn't it?"

He could sort of see what Sirius meant. It was a clear, sunny day, and the air up there was pleasantly cool, but Remus was sore and beginning to feel ill, and he couldn't forget his position in relationship to the now receding ground below them.

Scarcely ten minutes later, they came to a bumpy stop directly in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "Come on," Sirius said cheerfully. "I usually park out back."

Glancing at his watch (and trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation in his stomach), Remus was informed that they were now five minutes late. He groaned inwardly and followed Sirius through the archway into Diagon Alley, at a jog through the streets, and into the building where they regularly had their classes.

"Late again, Mr. Black?" the secretary called cheerfully. Sirius waved at her and hurried down the stairs, throwing the door open for them to go in. They both were only a few steps into the room before Sirius stopped with a funny sort of gulp, staring at the man who was regarding them sternly while standing in the front of the classroom. Remus followed suit. It was not Moody.

Crouch pursed his lips, looking them up and down critically. He paused over Sirius' leather jacket and Remus' now thoroughly untidy hair. "Mr. Black," he said shortly. "Lupin. Thank you for deigning to join us. Please take your seats."

Remus could feel all eyes on them as they made their way to their respective chairs. This was not good. James and Frank gave them each hesitant smiles as they sat down, but Remus didn't feel much better. What was Crouch doing here? Moody was sitting in a chair to one side, just as he had been the day they'd started on the Imperius curse.

"As I was saying," Crouch said in an irritated but tightly controlled voice, "you have each been taught to throw off the Imperius curse, though few of you can manage it perfectly. This will come eventually." He sounded as though eventually had better, for their sakes, be sooner than later. "You have also begun to master the use of the Imperius curse. _Most_ of you are doing fairly well. This will also come with time. Rather than continue to spend all of our class time on that, we will move on to the next curse--Cruciatus. Before we even begin to practice this on spiders, it is imperative that you understand exactly what you are doing to the subject of your curse. This is not something you can go into without knowing every side of it. We will proceed as you did with Imperius; one at a time, you will each come up to the front of the classroom and be exposed to the spell."

Even Lockhart was perfectly silent--indeed, he looked as though he'd never be able to talk again. Moody was watching Crouch, face completely devoid of expression. Crouch cleared his throat. "Abressley. You first." Megan stood up from her chair in the front row and walked slowly forward. Her face was white and she cast a quick, pleading glance back at the rest of them. Crouch waved his wand at the door and said a few quick words that Remus recognized as a spell to cast a soundproof barrier around the room.

"_Crucio._"

Megan doubled up immediately, clutching at her stomach and trying unsuccessfully to stay on her feet. Her agonized screams rang in Remus' ears, and he wished that, somehow, he could get away from the sound. Her eyes were squeezed tight, and drops of liquid--was it perspiration, or tears?--ran down her face. Crouch stood over her impassively, and Moody was on his feet now as well. As the screams reached their pitch, Crouch suddenly raised his wand and Megan collapsed limply to the floor.

No one moved for a full second, and then Moody started forward, bent over Megan, and helped her to her feet and back to her chair. He took out his wand and was about to do something to her--Remus assumed he intended to relieve the pain--but Crouch caught the Auror's eye and shook his head. "There will be pain, and you will deal with it. An Auror's life is not easy. If you cannot be trusted to handle both physical and emotional suffering without a fuss, pick yourself up, and start over again, you will not be able to last. This is the first of many tests for each of you. Black, you are next."

And so it continued. Remus was unable to stand watching Sirius be tortured, and instead he fixed his gaze on the clock above Crouch's head and tried to imagine that the screams didn't exist. After returning to his desk, Sirius sat in silence with his head in his hands and didn't look around at anyone. One by one, row by row, Remus watched his Crouch torture his classmates.

When Lockhart had been deposited (shaking and moaning under his breath) in his chair and Frank Longbottom had returned to his seat, Crouch's gaze moved next to him, to Remus.

"Lupin, come here."

In a daze, he stood and walked down the aisle to stand in front of Crouch, who met his gaze evenly.

"_Crucio._"

As he lay on the floor, gasping for breath in between screams of pain, the part of his mind that was drifting apart from everything else registered that he was experiencing a strange sort of deja vu. Though he'd never felt a torment this intense, it had a familiar, alarming feel to it--particularly the fact that it all seemed to be centered about the old scar high on his left shoulder. He cast about for a connection (all the while, thrashing about on the floor in agony) and suddenly one burst into his mind as he put together the sensations he felt now and the conversation he'd had with Gregoram not too long ago, just as he felt the all-too familiar stretching and tearing of his limbs, the elongating of the teeth, the narrowing of his head and the way his jaw was pulling outwards from the rest of his face....

"Barty! Stop!"

Moody's voice, he thought dimly, and knew that Crouch had released him. It occurred to him to be terrified, but he didn't have the strength. He felt the bristly hair that had started to push itself out of his skin along his jaw and cheekbones recede, and all the while his scar burned as though it was on fire. He could hear screams and knew that they weren't his own; forcing his eyes open, Remus saw the class standing and pushing to get as far back from him as they could, all but Sirius and James, who were both standing over him with Moody and Crouch. The Auror had something in his hand; he saw a glint of silver and closed his eyes again.

Moody had him by the shoulders, and he was sitting up now. Reaching up to touch his face, his fingers found it smooth and human again, and he looked up at the Auror, who had his wand out and was raising it over his head. Remus braced himself with another thrill of fear and, to his astonishment, felt the aches disappear and his head clear. Moody looked daggers at Crouch.

"I think you'll agree, Barty, that some assistance might be wise in this case. Relax, son. We've got it under control."

Sirius and James were watching him nervously, as though trying their best to resist the urge to transform. "Come on, son. You two, give me a hand." Together, the two of them and Moody hauled Remus to his feet. He had a last glimpse of the terrified faces of his classmates before they were on the stairs leading to the main floor.

"Moony? You all right?"

He nodded, and it was mostly true. The physical effects of the spell were fast wearing off, but he was relieved to sink into the chair Moody pulled from the secretary's desk. He wondered dully where she had gone.

"It's all right, son. It wasn't your fault, and there's no harm done."

"What was that you had in your hands?"

Moody pulled something from his robes--a short knife, with a polished and obviously sharp blade. It shone brightly of silver. "A dagger, made of magically hardened silver. An Auror's tool. I usually carry one with me, along with a few other things." He must have seen the horror in Remus' eyes, because he shook his head and continued, "Most people think the only way to kill a werewolf is with silver, but there are other methods. I don't use those if I can help it, and then only in self defense. That's what this is for. It's a preventive measure, not to harm the wolf, but to keep a victim from becoming one."

Remus stared up at him, and James said hotly, "There's no way to do that. Once you're bitten, you're a wolf."

"I've seen it done. Few people know about this, and in some cases it's fatal, but if the bite is on the end of a limb, such as the hand or the foot, you can cut it off--with this--before it's had time to spread. Not pleasant, but better than the alternative."

"So how did it happen?" Sirius broke in. "The curse isn't supposed to have side effects like _that_, is it?"

"We don't know much about why the Unforgivable Curses were made," Remus said heavily. "One of the reasons Avada Kedavra was used, though, was because there aren't many spells that can harm werewolves during the full moon. That was one of the few, and in the periodic slaughters we read about in History of Magic...at least, those us who were paying attention..." Sirius had apparently recovered enough to look abashed. "Many people were killed who weren't werewolves. I think that's why the Cruciatus curse was invented--to simulate the effects of the full moon."

"That's enough talk," Moody told him gruffly. "You don't feel up to going back down there, do you?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine." He'd have to face Crouch and his classmates sooner or later. It might as well be now.

********

The mansion was quiet, all its occupants having long since gone to sleep, and it stood, pristine and impressive, on top of a gently sloping hill topped by trees. The leaves rustled in a light breeze, the only sound except for the quiet footsteps of the dozen or so black robed figures moving up the path. One held out a hand, indicating that the others needed to stop, and went on alone until he had reached the door and opened it. He waited a moment as the warding spells deactivated, then nodded to the rest, and they joined him. Only two remained outside, well outside the warded area, watching the surrounding hillside attentively. There were no other houses in sight, so their eyes swept only over the road stretching off in two directions. There was a cry from the house, muffled and quickly silenced, that caused them to start and look around in alarm, but they quickly calmed down once no other sounds reached their ears. Just as they were beginning to shift around in impatience, the door opened again, and their companions stepped out into the night.

"All finished?"

They nodded. "It was a quick job," said the one who had first approached the house. "They were all asleep."

"There's nothing left to be done here, we should go."

He shook his head. "One more thing." One arm was raised, a wand in his outstretched hand, and he muttered something under his breath.

The figures walked swiftly down to the road before apparating away, their shadows dancing wildly in the eerie light of the nearly full moon and the sign that now hung in the sky.

********

"Albus!"

Dumbledore swiveled around in his chair, setting his quill down on the letter he'd been composing. Barty Crouch stood in the doorway, breathing heavily and looking less self-possessed than Albus had ever seen him. Something had to have happened.

"Barty. Good morning. What is the matter?"

"Albus, Jonathan Prewett didn't show up for work this morning. I tried sending an owl and using the fireplace, but nobody answered, so I sent one of the junior workers down to see if he could find Jonathan. He's dead, Albus. All of the Prewetts--murdered in their beds last night, and the Dark Mark hanging in the sky above the house."


	9. Chapter Eight: Changing Times

Disclaimer: It's all J. K. Rowling, as usual. Speaking of which, I'm suffering from withdrawal (there's only so many times you can reread Prisoner of Azkaban--I think I'm up to three hundred or so by now, and I've started on the fourth one yet again), so she'd better get a move on with the next book!

Author's Note:**sniff** My longest chapter yet, and nobody reviewed.... (blows nose loudly) I'll give you guys another chance, I guess. I'm proud of this chapter (except for the fact that I'm overusing the ellipses and dashes, but they're _so_ useful)--it pretty much wrote itself, and I came up with a lot of new stuff. Several new characters and a surprise encounter with a rarely-seen character in the HP books, but one that is, of course, completely vital...no, I'm not going to tell you who. You'll find out soon enough.

You know, I'm really running into a problem. After writing about a character for awhile, you sort of start to get to know them...and I'm becoming rather attached to Peter. It's going to be difficult to turn him into a murdering, traitorous Death Eater. And James too--and I have to kill him and Lily, and send Sirius to Azkaban, and leave poor Remus all alone.

And my supporting characters, like Gregoram and McGonagall and those you'll meet in this chapter...I've got things planned for them that I'm not going to be too happy with.

But that's just the way life works out, doesn't it? And at least I don't have to kill Prongs for a bit.

Sorry this took so long. I'm trying to get out a chapter per week, and they're getting longer as they go (I'm going to try to reach the 10,000 mark, bringing me almost up past 50,000 words total!), but it's going to be difficult. Ever heard of the Youth Options program? It's this wonderful thing that lets high schoolers attend college classes...so, naturally, I'm in second year Calc. Yuck. It doesn't start for awhile, though, but I've got other classes to worry about, and I'm pretty much bogged down with school, etc. So anyway, I'm trying, people, I really am.

Just review. Please? You'd really make my day. I'm going to stop rambling now, so all you nice people can read my story.

_Oh, a few things I forgot:_

Does anybody have a complete list of the Departments in the Ministry of Magic? Here's a few I found on a website....

*Magical Law Enforcement; *Department of International Magical Cooperation; *Department of Mysteries; *Misuse of Muggle Artifacts; *Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; *Magical Games and Sports; Committee on Experimental Charms; Accidental Magical Reversal Squad; Department of Transportation; Improper use of Magic Office; Goblin Liaison Office; and Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

Asterisks indicate the ones I'm sure are Departments as a whole, and not offshoots of another. I _believe_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them mentions that there are seven departments, but I'm not sure. Anyone with more concrete information, please mention it in a review or e-mail me @ russianalias@juno.com.

Also, I've been informed that in Britain, there is no graduation after students complete their schooling...anyone care to elaborate? Is that true everywhere, or do some of you have some sort of ceremony? (I'm an American who's never been able to travel out of the country much--certainly not to Europe, though I'm hoping to next summer--, and I also have an unfortunate lack of practical info on other countries. Our school systems really don't teach us anything about that sort of thing.)

Sorry. You can read now, just had to put in my two cents. Actually, I think I'm up to about thirty by now. Read before I drive you all crazy.

Chapter Eight: Changing Times

"When is it permissible to use a tracking globe on a suspect?"

Sirius drummed his fingertips against the footboard of his bed, where he lay sprawled out among his notes. "Er--that would be--with the written permission of your head of department?"

James glanced at him from above his copy of the "Rules and Regulations of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement" and nodded.

"Yesss! I didn't think I knew that one."

"Hang on, there's more, and Crouch'll mark you down for partial answers."

He let out a long groan. "I give up, what is it?"

Remus looked scandalized. "You can't just give up like that! You'll never manage the exam if you quit halfway through every question...at least give it a try."

Sirius bit his lip and squinted sideways at James, who was still watching him over the handbook. "I don't know."

James sighed. "You have to inform the person being tracked--also in writing."

"I thought we were done with exams once we were out of Hogwarts," Sirius complained as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. James and Remus were seated, respectively, in the chair pulled up to Sirius' desk (strewn, as usual, with books, papers, magazines, and various other odds and ends) and on the only clean space on the entire floor. "This is ridiculous. An exam every three weeks...what do they think they're pulling?"

"They're only making sure we're learning something," Remus said reasonably. "And look at it this way--you're doing fine in class, so even if you fail the written exam, you're probably going to do well on the practical part."

Sirius grunted and snatched his handbook up from the bed. "Your turn, James." He quickly scanned the page and found the most obscure bit of information there. "How long, at the minimum, does it take to process an official request for permission to use the Ministry's closed records?"

James screwed up his forehead in thought. "That's completely unfair, Sirius, but it's four weeks."

He let out a howl. "How can you possibly remember that?" Sirius demanded. "How can you possibly memorize every single bit of information in the entire handbook?"

"It's not that difficult, Padfoot, if you actually bother to read it once in a while...."

"We're out of school, for one thing, and for another, it's summer! I refuse to study."

"Your loss," Remus said, reaching for the glass of lemonade at his elbow. "At least _we_ won't be the ones to be dismissed from Crouch's class only one exam into it...."

Sirius clambered to his feet and, in two long, practiced strides, made his way across the mess that formed a moat around his bed. "I'll get some more lemonade. You two keep on studying."

As he left the room, he shook his head once more in disgust. Really, the nerve...didn't Crouch have anything better to do than write exams for them every three weeks? Not to mention the fact that they'd been assigned nearly four hundred pages to read in an enormous volume they'd all been given, and the report on it was due the next week....

He wrenched the cupboard door open so hard that it slammed and rebounded off the wall. Sirius reached for the jar that sat on one of the shelves, labeled with a single, bright lemon on its side. He took off the cover and looked inside at the swirling, yellowish mist that filled it partway--they were almost out. His mother was rarely home, so using essence of lemon (as well as pork, chicken, apple, sausage, cheese, broccoli, and about a hundred other flavors) was much easier for them than actually cooking a full meal. "Fill me up a pitcher, will you? And make it cold." The sink gurgled in reply and began to spout a steady stream of water. Every few seconds came the _plunk_ as an ice cube emerged from the faucet and fell into the water. When the pitcher was full, Sirius shook out some of the yellowish mist (which, slightly heavier than air, poured out easily) into it and stirred the mixture with his wand, which he then rinsed under the faucet and wiped on his robes. Remus and James might not consider this entirely sanitary, but he took good care of his wand, and it hadn't been stuffed into too many slimy, evil-smelling corners--at least not all that recently.

In any case, the ice-cold lemonade was delicious and refreshing on such a hot day, providing a wonderful respite from the studying they'd been doing for the past hour or so. Sirius had ill humouredly agreed to the study session after being told that they had exactly five days to prepare for the exam. Those five were now down to four, and he was still having difficulty remembering the restrictions placed on the use of Veritaserum.

He was just about to go back to his room when there was a loud _bang!_ in the sitting room and somebody let out a muffled expletive. Another bang resounded throughout the house, and there was a dull thud and a crash. As he hurried down the hallway (lemonade slopping over the sides of the pitcher) he met a very confused James and Remus coming out of his room.

"What's going on?" James asked in bewilderment. "Did you blow something up?"

Sirius shook his head and rounded the corner into the sitting room. Two witches were half-sprawled on the floor, both in considerable disarray. One had black hair and deeply tanned skin, and her nose and chin bore a noticeable resemblance to Sirius' own. The other was young, had dark brown hair, and was probably one of the best-looking women he'd ever seen.

"Curse it," the younger witch said, sitting up with a scowl that did nothing to spoil her features--in fact, she looked rather nice, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and irritation, her full lips pressed firmly together.

"Hello, Mum," Sirius said blandly. The older witch looked up at him in surprise, pushing raven hair out of her eyes.

"Sirius...and James and Remus. That's right, I'd forgotten you were coming over. Hello, you three. This is Rowena Heckleburst, a colleague of mine. Rowena, my son Sirius, and his friends, James Potter and Remus Lupin."

Sirius offered Rowena Heckleburst a hand up, which she accepted with recovered dignity. "Thank you. I'm very pleased to meet you, and I apologize...." She looked down at the floor--the spot where she had been sitting was a smoldering mass of blackened carpet.

"Not to worry. It wasn't your fault," Merulla Black replied, accepting James' offer of a hand up, exposing an identical smoky patch.

"So," Sirius said lightly, "bad day at work? Did your boss get angry, and you decided to duck out of the situation?"

The two witches glanced at each other. "Not exactly," Rowena said, tossing her long hair over one shoulder and smoothing her stylish, forest green robes. Sirius noticed offhandedly that they set off her dark brown eyes (flecked with the same green color) to a distinct advantage. She grinned mischievously at his mother, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. "Although that's likely enough to happen next time we get into the office."

"You don't have to answer to him, though," Merulla said with an answering smile. "That honor's reserved for actual employees, not hangers on like yourself."

Rowena snorted disdainfully. "I could practically be on the payroll, you know, Merri. With all the help I give you poor souls...."

"Enough of that. What are you boys up to?"

"Studying."

"In the middle of the summer? I thought Merri said you'd graduated."

"We did," Sirius said heavily. "But now we're in Crouch's training program, and we've got an exam in a few days."

"Going to be Aurors, are you?" Rowena asked, raising her eyebrows. "Well, maybe you three can whip things into shape at the Ministry before the Death Eaters have us all answering at their beck and call."

Merulla shot her an exasperated look. "You know perfectly well we're doing all we can. Even in my department."

"What is that, exactly?" James asked curiously.

"Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Her expression remained bland, but her eyes were locked for an instant with Remus'.

"And where do you work?" Sirius inquired of Rowena.

"Until recently, I've worked with the Guild."

" What 'Guild'? " All three were mystified.

"You wouldn't have heard of it and would probably find it boring. Anyway, I'm not with them much longer--Albus Dumbledore's hired me for the next year."

"Really? What class are you teaching?"

"I'm taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts for part of the year."

They all stared at her. "What about Professor Gregoram?" Remus asked finally.

"He needs some time off every once in a while," she replied evasively. "He's doing some extra work for the Ministry...it takes up a lot of time, and Albus thought he could use an assistant professor."

Remus appeared to be doing some intense thinking. "Crouch was upset with him a while ago, because he didn't know about--about--" He broke off, as though suddenly remembering that the Azkaban situation was classified.

"The dementors, you mean?" Miss Heckleburst said in amusement. "Barty was a bit aggravated, yes, as I recall."

"Well, does that have anything to do with this?"

"Whether it does or not, it's none of your business," she said with a definite air of finality. "You'd better get back to studying--Crouch's exams aren't easy, from what I've heard." She and Sirius' mother disappeared into the study.

"What Guild was she talking about?" James asked after a moment, staring after them.

"And what were she and Mum doing, that they came home so suddenly?" Sirius mused. Another thought struck him. "And why are we unlucky enough that she comes to teach the year _after_ we graduate?"

Remus grinned across Sirius to James. "Looks like ol' Padfoot's getting a bit star struck, doesn't it?"

"Of course not," Sirius said instantly. "Sure, she's incredibly good-looking, but she's got to be at least in her mid-twenties."

"Practically decomposing by now," James said with a snort of laughter.

"Well, even if I am...only a bit, mind you...a bit attracted to her, which any normal person would be, I'm certainly not the only one with my head in the clouds." He gave Remus a meaningful look. "Of course, I'm not referring to anyone present...but there's a certain somebody with a date this Wednesday, unless I'm very much mistaken...."

Remus coughed loudly, and James said defensively, "It's not a date, exactly...it's just a dinner. Between friends."

"If you say so." Having exacted his revenge, Sirius grinned and relented. "Come on, you two, if you want to finish drilling me on that confounded handbook."

They proceeded to do so, and Sirius spent a good two hours wracking his brains and trying to stump James and Remus while he was at it. He finally managed to completely befuddle Remus over a tricky question about illegal curses, and, in the heat of his triumph, announced that they were now going to take a break for a few games of Periclista, a game which he almost invariably won. It was a complicated card and dice game, also involving a game board and several markers for each player. He'd already managed to move one of his markers to the opposite side of the board merely fifteen minutes later. The three of them were now discussing the mysterious Rowena Heckleburst.

"What d'you think that Guild is?" Sirius wondered aloud. "It probably has to do with fighting the dark arts, considering that Dumbledore hired her. She must have plenty of experience with that sort of thing."

"But why was she helping your Mum? And what does her department have to do with the Death Eaters?"

"Dementors aren't the only nonhumans the Death Eaters use for their purposes," Sirius said darkly. "There've been plenty of loose trolls and dragons rampaging the countryside lately, though the Ministry's tried to hush it up. Mum's been working overtime practically every day for the past few weeks, trying to keep the Muggles from noticing and the monsters from killing people."

"And now the Ministry's bringing in outsiders to help them," Remus said thoughtfully. "You know, I'm sure I've read about a Guild somewhere, but I don't remember exactly...the book had something to do with potions ingredients, I think, but that doesn't make much sense...."

"Potions ingredients--wait! I just remembered, Mum wanted me to go into Diagon Alley and pick up some unicorn dung for her fertilizing potions. I'll have to go now if I want to be back by the time she gets home."

"See you at the Ministry building this afternoon, then," Sirius said as he rolled the dice. They landed on a four and a six, causing Remus to groan loudly in despair over his hand of cards and his previous roll. "Floo powder's in the jar by the fireplace, unless you want to apparate!" he called as James left the room.

"Your roll," Sirius said contentedly as he moved his marker forward. Remus frowned down at the board, then took the dice and threw them.

"Double threes!" he exclaimed in satisfaction. "That'll beat your ten any day...twelve points...and I'll put out a nine and a three." He laid those cards down in front of him, adding them to the piles he already had. "And that's five moves for me." He pushed one marker ahead three spaces and another two. "Your turn--let's see you beat that!"

Sirius did so. "Double fives, Moony. Twenty points. With this jack here, that gives me a full straight...."

Remus groaned and laid down his cards. "Forget it, you win. As always. We need to get back to studying anyway."

"Can't we do something else?" he asked plaintively.

"Tell you what," Remus said with a smile, "I'll keep playing with you, but only if you can tell me three reasons why higher-level stunning charms can be dangerous to the spell caster--"

"You've made your point," Sirius said grumpily. "Where's that handbook?"

An hour later, Remus had nearly half the packet practically memorized, and Sirius could remember the names of every person subjected to the Dementors' Kiss in the last two centuries. Sirius had already pointed out that they weren't likely to need to know that, but Remus just said it couldn't hurt; Crouch seemed to enjoy asking impossibly difficult, or trick, questions.

"So," Remus asked after awhile, "does your Mum usually bring home friends like that?"

"Not usually," Sirius replied regretfully. "It'd be nice if she did, wouldn't it?"

"You aren't _actually_ attracted to her, are you? I mean...."

"Nah, not really; it was just a good lead-in to annoy Prongs. She's gorgeous and all, but like I said, she's got to be nearly ten years older than we are, not to mention the fact that she's my Mum's friend. I mean, really...."

"But Lily considers Vivian a friend, doesn't she?"

"I suppose so...that's not the point. Speaking of Lily-" His grin quite obviously conveyed some sort of mischief in the making. "I found out exactly where they're going for dinner Wednesday night--and when."

"So?"

Remus looked up at him reluctantly, suddenly realizing where this was going. "What're you going to do, Sirius? It's their first date, give them a break."

"Oh, it's nothing much...just a little idea I had...." He explained quickly, in a low voice.

"Sirius, honestly," Remus said, shaking his head in amusement. "So, Polyjuice again, or do you have something else up your sleeve?"

"We'll come up with something. And don't let me forget to tell Peter--he'll want to cut in on the fun, too."

"Sirius, you really are the most devious...."

His voice trailed off in exasperation. Sirius grinned.

"Thank you."

********

When Peter walked into the Ministry offices that afternoon (thirteen minutes late and counting), there was a distinct feeling of anxiety in the air.

The few people he passed in the corridors didn't stop to chat, or even wave hello. When he opened the door marked "_Abuse of Muggle Artifacts Offices_", wincing slightly in expectation of the reprimand he'd receive for being late, there was no reaction whatsoever. Arthur Weasley's office door hung ajar, as did their Head of Department's, Balbus Ebriel. "Mr. Weasley?" He moved forward to Weasley's door and looked inside.

"Sir?"

The red-topped head bent over his desk jerked up with a start. "Pettigrew!"

"What's going on, sir? Everybody seems worried about something...."

Weasley swallowed nervously, fiddling with the stack of parchments he'd been looking through. "Well...there's a meeting of all the Department heads going on right now. That's where Balbus is."

"What's the meeting for?"

Weasley looked down at his shoes. "Not allowed to say. You'll find out soon enough, unless the meeting goes on forever. There's no question in my mind, though, that--never mind."

Peter stared at him. "There's something wrong, isn't there." The older man nodded. Peter swallowed.

"Just get to work, Pettigrew. I'll let you know when we're supposed to find out about the meeting."

"Er...sir?"

"Yes?"

"I'm late...." Weasley looked at his watch.

"It's all right. There's reports that need filing on your desk."

Half unable to believe his luck, and half frightened at what could possibly have everyone so upset, Peter went to his office and sat down at the desk. As Arthur had said, there was a stack of papers there...and something else. A letter, with his name written on the front--in blue ink that he'd seen before. With a thrill of hope, he inserted a finger into the slit and opened it, unfolding the parchment and holding it to the light.

Dear Mr. Pettigrew, it read,

We would like to thank you again for applying to our Auror Training Sessions. Unfortunately, we still do not accept those with scores lower than 80% on the exams. However, there is another job opening in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that may be of some interest to you. We are informed, by your mentor, Mr. Mundungus Fletcher, that you have a quick grasp of detail and are extremely observant, and have a vacancy in our Justice Administration department. We need a secretary for the courts and a temporary assistant for some of our public lawyers (as you may know, the courts have been filled with cases lately, and it is becoming difficult to maintain optimum efficiency). If you would be interested in this position, please owl us or send a message to my office.

Sincerely,

Bartemius Crouch : Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement

Peter stared down at the sheet of parchment. This was not what he had hoped for, that was certain...but it was certainly something. A secretary in the courts--it could be really interesting work! He felt an intense pride in the fact that his mentor had recommended him to Crouch. Not many people had expressed much confidence in him before. Of course, this would mean giving up his position with the Muggle Artifacts Office, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to do that....

He fished a blank sheet of parchment from his desk drawer, as well as a quill and a pot of ink (not the one he'd enchanted to flash different colors). After thinking a moment, he began to pose a reply.

Dear Mr. Crouch,

Thank you for informing me about the job opening in the Justice Department. I would be delighted to accept, but as you may know, I currently have a position with the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts offices. If you would be so kind as to allow me a day's grace to speak to my head of Department and consider the matter, I can get back to you tomorrow.

Thank you again,

Peter Pettigrew

Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts

That was it, he thought with satisfaction. Short, to the point, and businesslike. Peter retrieved an envelope, sealed the letter into it, and wrote "Mr. Bartemius Crouch" on the back. He'd drop it off with Crouch's secretary later on. Until then, he thought with a reluctant sigh, there remained a stack of work on his desk that was waiting impatiently to be finished. He _really_ didn't want to have to think about the three hundred odd laws currently in effect dealing with Muggle articles, not to mention follow up on half a dozen urgent letters that were in his _IN_ tray. He opened the first, gave it a cursory glance, and apparated away.

Mrs. E. M. Culliber of 9093 Lawrence Street, a Muggle woman living alone in a small brick house, had recently come upon a doormat at a sidewalk sale that wiped the owners' feet when stepped on. Mrs. E. M. Culliber wanted to know just what a strange robed individual wanted with her, said (with a note of repressed hysteria) that, no, she'd had no problems with her doormat (she was, of course, in complete denial of the seemingly inexplicable actions of her large brown rug), and slammed the door in his face.

Peter sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought.

"Mrs. Culliber?" He could see her peering out of one of the dark windows. "Mrs. Culliber, I'm just here to help you." There was no response. He waved his wand at the door, which flew open, and he pushed his way in before she could close it again. The rug (lying in the entry hall) flew upwards, rubbing furiously at his feet and writhing about on the floor.

"This is trespassing!" she shouted in her high-pitched voice, trying to beat him about the head with an umbrella. "I'll call the police on you!"

"Mrs. Culliber, it's all right. I'm just here to relieve you of your doormat and--"

"Out! I won't have any rug thieves in my house!"

"I'd be perfectly willing to reimburse you, Mrs. Culliber--will this do?" He pulled a handful of bronze and silver coins from his pocket completely at random (one golden galleon gleaming amid the rest) and showed them to her. She gasped in shock and seized the galleon, staring at it in disbelief.

"This...this is gold?"

"Pure gold, Mrs. Culliber...I'm sorry, I don't have any other form of currency on me...."

She turned the coin over in her hand, then tentatively raised it to her mouth and bit it.

"What was that for?" Peter asked indignantly.

"I--I don't know what it's for, I've seen people do it at the cinema." Her tone was not accusatory, now, but confused and vague.

"Cinema? What's that?" He belatedly realized, from her expression, that movies the cinema was some Muggle contrivation that he should have known about, and decided enough was enough. "Never mind...is that good enough?"

"Er...that'll be fine..."

"Good," Peter replied with a reassuring smile. He closed the front door, which was still standing wide open, and rolled the doormat up, tucking it under one arm. "Thank you very much, ma'am. Just one more thing, if you don't mind...." He pulled his wand out of his pocket, and she stared at him, a confused look on her face.

"_Obliviate!_"

Her eyes momentarily took on a dreamy, fogged look, and he seized the opportunity to apparate back to his office.

Or rather, to disapparate from the Muggle woman's house, because halfway there, something seemed to strike him like a brick wall, and as the universe shakily reasserted itself around him, Peter discovered that he was sitting down in the street outside Ministry headquarters; the air around him was suddenly filled with blue static. A blaring alarm went off, and a magically amplified voice blared out into the street, startling both Peter and the afternoon pedestrians on Diagon Alley: "_Employees of the Ministry and private citizens are reminded that as of noon today, wards are being set up so that one can disapparate from, but not apparate into, all Ministry buildings in London, so please make travel arrangements accordingly....Employees of the Ministry and...._"

Several figures came running outside, every one in the royal blue robes with a yellow circle on the front that proclaimed them to be Ministry Hit Wizards, wands held high in the air.

"Stop right there!" one of them yelled, pointing his wand at Peter, who threw his hands upwards.

"No, don't--I'm a Ministry employee!"

A crowd had gathered at a safe distance and was watching the scene play out with obvious amusement.

The Hit Wizards glanced at each other and all but the first lowered their wands. "Where's your ID?"

Peter felt his pockets, only to find them empty. "I must have left it on my desk," he said quickly. "Just let me run into the building and...." The man looked ready to curse him, and Peter dropped the wand he still had in one hand. "Look, you can talk to Arthur Weasley if you need to, or Balbus Ebriel for that matter. I'm Peter Pettigrew of the Muggle Artifacts Department. I didn't know about the wards."

"He's probably telling the truth, Garrett," a witch said uncertainly.

The wizard shook his head. "Best to be certain. Come on, you--keep your hands in sight, and don't touch that wand!" Peter decided it was probably best not to protest, and got carefully to his feet. He wasn't going to give "Garrett" any reason for hexing him. It was incredibly hard to move while surrounded by the blue static, which seemed to be some sort of alarm system that identified the intruder. It disappeared with a wave of Garrett's wand.

"No sudden moves," the Hit Wizard said menacingly.

Cheeks burning at the stares and chuckles from the crowd around him, Peter was frog-marched up the stairs and into the building.

"He's the sixth one today, Garrett," the witch persisted. "Not everybody's been told yet."

"Doesn't matter," the other said darkly. "Security needs to be tight, especially with the heads of departments and other officials all meeting together."

By the time they had reached his office, Peter was in a profound state of embarrassment. He'd known quite a few of the people that had grinned at him in the halls, and as he walked into the Muggle Artifacts wing, his humiliation was topped off by the look on Arthur Weasley's face.

"Pettigrew? What happened?"

"I-"

"Sir, can you validate the identity of this young man?"

Weasley gave Garrett a look of surprise. "Why, of course! This is Peter Pettigrew, who works here with me."

The Hit Wizard frowned at Peter. "Where did you say your ID is?"

"Top drawer on the left, in my desk. I think."

"Would you be so kind as to get it? Not you," he added sharply, as Peter had taken a step toward the office door. "Him." He jabbed his wand at Weasley, who obligingly got up, walked into Peter's office, and rummaged around in the drawers for a moment.

"Here it is."

The small card, inscribed with his identification number he'd received when he became employed at the Ministry, his department and its head, and his name and birth date, had a moving picture of Peter on the front.

"Give me your hand."

Peter did so, pressing his forefinger to the card. He felt a tingle run through his body, and then the words "_Identity Verified_" sprang into view above the picture.

"Now can I get back to work?"

"You may. Thank you, both of you. I'm sure you understand the urgent need for security in light of recent events." Garrett turned and marched out of the room.

Weasley looked rather sheepish. "That would be my fault, Pettigrew...at least, I presume you tried to apparate back here? I forgot to let you know that wards were being set up. I'm sorry."

"That's all right, but why are they setting them up so suddenly, and why the tighter security?"

He hesitated. "Come with me, we've been called to a hearing. You can find out there."

The conference room in the building across the street looked like a lecture hall in one of the Muggle universities Peter had seen--there were dozens of chairs on a slope, with aisles running down between the columns and a stage at the bottom. He walked in to the buzzing of hundreds of people who were seated in the chairs, recognizing most as employees of the Ministry. He also saw a few people he assumed were from the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network; some were taking pictures so quickly that the multicolored smoke emitting from the cameras covered half the ceiling. He sat down next to Weasley and they waited. Several minutes later, the room grew silent as the door to the stage opened, and nineteen people walked in to take their seats in the chairs set up onstage: the Heads of Departments, Edward Cole, Alastor Moody, Vincent Gregoram, and Arabella Figg, as well as a few others Peter didn't recognize. Crouch was the twentieth, and he went not to a chair but to the podium in the center, clearing his throat.

"Some of you know why we're here," he began, voice magically amplified. "Many do not. It is the cold, hard truth that last night, Death Eaters stormed the Prewett mansion, massacring our beloved Minister and his family."

Somebody gasped, and several people started to their feet. The cameras paused for an instant, and then began whirring even faster than before. Peter was completely stunned--Prewett dead? This couldn't possibly be happening. He'd only met him once or twice, but he was a kind man: a born leader, and somebody he'd always felt he could look up to.

"The Council has decided that it would be unwise to elect another Minister at this time. However, we have come to an agreement on the fact that we do need someone to lead us and organize the Ministry in Jonathan's stead." Crouch paused, swallowing. "The Council has reached the--unanimous--" (a muscle was going in his cheek) "decision that the person to lead us during this time of trouble should be none other than the venerable Albus Dumbledore."

A murmur rippled across the crowd. Dumbledore was, of course, the obvious choice, but unless Peter was very much mistaken, Crouch wasn't too happy about it; he quite plainly wanted the job himself, and had only agreed with the others to save his face.

"Albus?" Crouch was looking around at the crowd. "Are you present?"

"Indeed, I am." Dumbledore's voice rang out through the room from where he'd stood up, directly in the center of the listening crowd. He stopped for a moment to think. "I will say that I deeply grieve Jonathan's passing, but this is a time in which it is best not to dwell on the negative and look ahead. I have been offered positions at the Ministry many times, and have refused them all on the grounds that my loyalties lie first with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While I intend to continue my activities as headmaster there, I feel that I cannot abandon my country in its time of need. I am flattered by your offer, and will do the best I can for as long as I am in Jonathan's former place."

The noise and smoke from the cameras had redoubled by this time, but otherwise the audience was silent, and Dumbledore's voice seemed to echo even after he had stopped speaking. Crouch nodded once. "Thank you, Albus. Ordinarily, we would not continue operations today out of respect for Jonathan Prewett, but that is not an option at the moment. If you would all please return to your offices, it is our priority to continue running as smoothly as possible. Thank you all."

As he filed out of the room behind a subdued Arthur Weasley, Peter still could not quite get used to the idea that they no longer had a Minister. Slowly, another thought began to push its way into the clear part of his brain--the Prewett mansion had to have been at least as heavily guarded as Crouch's had been.

_So how had the Death Eaters gotten in?_

********

Just as he was reaching for some of the powder, having lit a fire in the grate, Rowena Heckleburst appeared in the sitting room.

"Hello," she said with a smile. "James Potter, right? Where are you headed?"

"Diagon Alley."

"Really? Me too. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." James handed her the jar and threw his handful into the flames. "_The Leaky Cauldron!_"

After the typically disorienting journey, James staggered out of the large fireplace in the pub, eyes not quite adjusted to the dim light. A few witches and wizards seated at the tables looked up to see who had arrived, but they all soon returned to contemplating their butterbeers. When Rowena arrived, on the other hand, she took their attention up for far longer, the wizards watching her step gracefully out with ill-disguised admiration, the witches with equally obvious envy. She appeared not to notice, and instead led James quickly out of the building and into the back lot, where she tapped on the brick wall with her wand. The archway into Diagon Alley appeared instantaneously, and the two of them stepped into the crowded street.

"What are you here for?" Rowena asked him.

"Unicorn dung for my Mum, a few books I need for Crouch's classes, and one or two other things. What about you?"

"Chimera gallbladders," she replied promptly.

James stared at her. "Honestly? Those things have got to be expensive--Chimaera's aren't easy to find, much less kill. We used the liver once in Potions, and our professor nearly skinned Sirius when he accidentally dropped his in some digesting concoction."

Rowena shrugged dismissively. "I suppose so, but I really need a few for a project I'm working on. Let's stop at Flourish and Blotts first to get your books--I was thinking of picking up one on argentum liquidum." They did so, and James found copies of "_Boggle the Mind--Resisting and Casting Mind-Controlling Spells_" and "_A Recent History of the Dark Arts, from Grindelwald to the Death Eaters_". Rowena bought several large volumes that the clerk could barely fit into the book bag, even without considering the idiotic way he was grinning at her and fumbling around with the books and the silver she handed him in payment.

When they emerged once more into the street, loaded down with reading material, Rowena set a course immediately for the apothecary shop. "Six pounds of Unicorn Dung, please," James told the skinny, beaky-nosed witch behind the counter. She disappeared into a back room that said "_Stockroom_" on the door, and James heard her rummaging around for a few minutes before she reappeared, covered with dust and now smelling of herbs and strange potions ingredients.

"Sorry," she said in a very nasal voice. "Fresh out. Try back tomorrow."

"What about Chimera gallbladders?"

"We don't carry those," she informed Rowena disdainfully. "They're too pricey and don't keep long."

"Come on," Rowena said in an irritated voice. "I know a place that's sure to carry both, and cheap, too. Just follow me."

He did so, and they soon ended up in a part of the street that was practically deserted and seemed to stop in a dead end, except for the alley--darker and almost forbidding--that led in another direction. Rowena began to enter it.

"Wait," James called uncertainly. "That's Knockturn Alley, isn't it?"

She nodded, then grinned at him. "Come on--it's not illegal or anything. Not frightened of it, are you?"

"Of course not," he muttered as he followed Rowena into the alley. But he did have to admit to himself that he felt extremely uneasy about heading into such a shady neighborhood with almost a complete stranger.

It turned out that Knockturn Alley was actually one main alley with several smaller ones branching off. Rowena went down several of these before they finally arrived at a shabby apothecary shop that was completely devoid of any other customers. The wares inside included plenty of ingredients James had never seen or heard of before, and some of them were just downright creepy, as was the witch behind the counter. Rowena gave her their orders.

"That's seven sickles from you," she said to James, who fished out some silver and accepted the large, grimy paper bag filled with silvery feces. "And you--back again so soon?" She smiled a toothless grin at Rowena. "Five Chimera gallbladders--that'll be forty-five galleons."

James gaped at them both, but Rowena didn't even flinch, drawing instead a sack of gold from somewhere inside her robes. The witch weighed it on a scale that looked like it had been used to measure some vile green substance (part of which had remained encrusted to the metal) in the recent past, and then approved it.

"And mind they're big ones, now," Rowena said sharply. "You can't swindle me out of my money, you know." The witch gave another toothless grin and handed over another paper bag, whose contents seemed to be large, round, wet, and rather squishy. Rowena inspected them carefully and nodded.

"Let's go, then."

The witch cackled and waved them out of the shop, leaving James feeling even more uneasy than before.

"Let's take a shortcut back," Rowena said decisively, and turned in another direction. They spent what seemed like ages turning corners that led down one dark street after another. By the time five minutes had past, he was jumping at small noises and half expecting to be surprised from behind. James looked back at the overhang they'd just passed under, and was about to ask Rowena whether she thought she'd taken a wrong turn, when something hard and unbelievably powerful struck him on the back of his head. The world exploded in a bright white light, giving way immediately to complete and utter darkness.

********

After being late the previous morning, Remus took great care to be several minutes early for Moody's class. It seemed that Sirius had had the same idea, because he was already waiting inside the classroom, dressed in his Muggle riding gear. He gave Remus a rather sheepish smile as he walked in.

"Decided to be early for once?"

"Apparently so," Frank Longbottom replied, a note of amusement in his voice. Remus sat down at his desk, next to Frank's because of the alphabetical order, and saw him tense up slightly. He looked over at the former Ravenclaw in some trepidation--it had been only the previous morning that the Cruciatus curse had produced such unfortunate side effects, and he was sure that nobody had forgotten. Frank, however, returned his look with an encouraging, if slightly shaky smile.

"Sorry," he said in a low voice. "It's just a bit hard to ignore the fact that you've seen one of your classmates turn into--into--" He broke off awkwardly.

"It's all right. No, really, it is. I understand and would probably feel the same."

Frank seemed relieved.

"So," Remus asked in a light voice, doing his best to change the subject, "have you started studying for the exam later this week?"

Sirius snorted, and Frank glanced over at him. "A bit, yes. I take it you have, Sirius?"

"Only for about a century this afternoon."

"There you have it, Frank," Remus laughed, "who could contradict themselves like that but Sirius? Yes, we did a bit of studying. It about drove Padfoot up the wall."

"If you'd just let us stop for a break once in awhile, Moony, I would've been able to concentrate better," Sirius retorted.

Remus was about to point out that they _had_ stopped for several breaks, but the look on Frank's face stopped him.

"Moony," he said slowly. "Of course...I've heard Sirius, James and Peter call you that before. It makes sense now--but Padfoot? What's that mean? And what about Prongs and Wormtail, I seem to recall...."

"Nothing," Remus said quickly. "Just nicknames they made up a while ago."

Frank didn't seem quite satisfied, but he didn't ask any more questions. He might have, were it not for the fact that the door had just opened again, and Snape had just led a group of students into the room.

"You actually showed up today?" he sneered at Remus, and Nott's snicker came from behind him.

"Why shouldn't he?" Sirius demanded.

"Well, you know," Snape drawled, "after yesterday's episode, I thought maybe he'd reconsider his decision to become an Auror. You know, he could go and be a freak at a Muggle circus instead."

Remus felt his face grow hot, but years of ignoring Snape's taunting made it possible for him not to respond. Sirius went bright red and clenched his fists, but at a warning look from Remus, he didn't say anything.

"Knock it off, Snape," Shelia Penn said from where she was standing, next to the door. "It wasn't his fault."

"Quiet, Penn, it's none of your business. But you've always sided with your fellow Gryffindors, haven't you? Mudblood and Muggle loving slime, the lot of them."

"Think Moody'd mind if I killed him?" Sirius snarled in an undertone to Remus. "He hates him as much as we do...."

"And you," Snape continued, looking at Frank this time, "you Ravenclaws are supposed to be pretty clever, but you obviously don't live up to it, do you? I mean, hanging around with Potter, and Black here and the monster, that's not too smart, is it...not to mention that weakling, Pettigrew--I heard the Dark Lord's going for half bloods, too, hope he's next...."

What little control Sirius still had snapped completely. With a wordless roar, he threw himself forward at Snape, and an instant later, the two of them were rolling around on the floor in a flurry of fists and flapping robes. The other students were shouting, most egging one or the other of them on, and only a few trying to stop it.

"Sirius!" Remus bellowed, "Sirius, stop it before--"

He was too late. The door, naturally, chose that exact instant to swing open, and with a swish of robes, two people walked in.

"_Black!_"

"_Snape!_"

Remus gasped--it was not, as he'd supposed, Moody and Crouch, but Vincent Gregoram and Minerva McGonagall. He'd thought the Auror and Law Enforcement Head would be quite bad enough, but the expression on Sirius' and Snape's former heads of houses were enough to make the whole class' blood run cold.

The two on the floor had frozen in position; Sirius was shoving down hard on Snape's shoulders, and the Slytherin had one arm up to grab his throat. At the sound of the professors' voices, Sirius rolled quickly to one side and they both sat up. Sirius' face showed nothing but hotheaded fury, but Snape had on his usual sullen expression.

"That will be quite enough!" Minerva barked, her lips pressed into a barely visible line and her eyes smoldering like dark coals. "I had thought better of both of you--training to be Aurors, indeed! Can you not, for a few hours, forget your personal grudges in light of what we are here to do?"

Gregoram's face could have been made of stone. Remus had only seen him this way once or twice before--once was when he, Sirius, Peter, and James had been caught out after hours, trying to sneak into the Slytherin common room to place hexes on the armchairs and couches. The Professor had been wakened by the noise Sirius had made when he stubbed his toe on a stair--they'd gotten one hundred-twenty points from Gryffindor and detention for a month. Another had been when a group of first years had been foolishly playing near the Whomping Willow, the lethal tree on the Hogwarts grounds, and one of them had been seriously injured. These memories flashed at lightning speed through Remus' head as Gregoram strode forward and stood staring down at Snape and Sirius.

"I am most disappointed with both of you," he said in a slow, controlled voice that made Remus feel like a first year again, even though it was not directed at him. "Representatives of your school and houses, working for the Ministry--and here you are, rolling around on the ground like children! You were recommended as the most dedicated students in your class. That's why you were accepted. I'm sure there are many others who would be willing to take your places, should it become necessary. Is that going to happen?"

Both of them shook their heads mutely, though they were still looking daggers at each other.

"Good," Minerva said, still angry but obviously wanting to get moving. "Return to your seats, both of you."

"We will be speaking to Mr. Moody and Mr. Crouch about this," Gregoram warned.

Sirius looked properly abashed, but had the nerve to ask a question as he got to his feet.

"Where _are _Moody and Crouch?"

"They are at a meeting," Gregoram said in reply, "and we will be teaching classes for today. Please take your seats. We will begin with a discussion about stunning spells."

They'd already covered some of this in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Gregoram went lightly over the review subjects and they went on to more difficult stunning spells. He ended the discussion by asking Minerva to shoot him with those they'd talked about, and she did so with such rapidity that, despite holding her off for a good (and entertaining, as they both were running around desks, Minerva trying for a better view and Gregoram dodging and parrying each curse) five minutes, at the end of it, he was struck full by a simple "_Stupefy!_" and keeled over onto the floor.

Minerva waved her wand again while the class applauded. "_Enervate!_" Helping him to his feet, she turned back to the class and began to explain the counterspells Gregoram had used.

As she did so, Remus noticed something odd about her. She was certainly in a better mood than she had been when she'd walked in on Sirius and Snape fighting, but there was something else--she was smiling much more than usual, and her cheeks were flushed. He did a double-take and looked closer--that wasn't a natural blush! Minerva McGonagall wearing makeup? Something strange was going on....

He wasn't imagining things, he decided finally, after watching her for a few minutes. She was obviously excited about something, although her mind seemed otherwise to be firmly set on the lesson plan that she and Gregoram led them through--wait a moment--the lesson plan that she and--

In the wake of the startling, impossible revelation that exploded through his mind at that instant came the thought that he must, indeed, be imagining things. This was the most ridiculous idea that had ever occurred to him, and yet....

Remus shook his head. He'd lost his mind completely. There must be some rational explanation; he just hadn't got enough sleep the previous night, that was it. With an effort, he forced his mind back to stunning charms.

At the end of the class, he approached Sirius to tell him what he'd thought, even if it was completely absurd, but Gregoram came up to them, a frown on his face. Sirius looked worried that he was in for another scolding, but it was a different concern entirely that had their former professor troubled.

"Where is James Potter?"

Sirius and Remus stared blankly at each other--they'd been so concerned with other things (Snape, the lesson, and Minerva, to be precise) that they hadn't even noticed that Prongs wasn't in the classroom.

"I dunno," Sirius said uneasily, glancing toward the spot where James usually sat. "We saw him earlier today; he should have been here."

"Maybe he got sick," Remus suggested unconvincingly.

Gregoram shook his head. "Not likely. He would at least have let someone know. Likely as not, he just forgot about it all. Still, I'll be on the safe side and see if I can talk with him or his mother."

"I'll wait until you find out," Remus said. He had a vague, uneasy feeling that he was ashamed to admit, but he needed to satisfy himself that nothing was amiss.

Gregoram nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Sirius also decided to wait; the two of them sat down in their seats and watched the rest of the class leave. Minerva had overheard the conversation and sat with them, her face troubled and her mind elsewhere.

Only a few minutes had passed before Gregoram returned.

"I've just been talking with Vivian," he said, closing the door behind him. "She hasn't seen James since he left this morning for your study session, and she mentioned something about potion ingredients he was supposed to get from Diagon Alley that weren't in the house. She's coming down here right now to see if we can find him."

"Is it really that big a deal?" Sirius asked, a note of worry in his voice. "I mean, he could easily have gotten sidetracked by a sale at Quality Quidditch Supplies or something."

Gregoram shrugged. "Vivian will be meeting us upstairs, in the Law Enforcement main lobby. Come along, both of you. Minerva?"

The four of them went, not through the door Remus had come in by, but through the one that stood underneath the clock on the wall. He'd never been back there before. Until the four of them got to the top of the stairs, it seemed exactly like the other exit, but when they came out into the lobby, it was completely different.

Several witches and wizards were sitting around in chairs and sofas, a mug of coffee or tea in one hand and a sheaf of parchments in the other. Others kept rushing through the room and down one of several corridors leading out. The whole of it--the people, rooms, and even furniture--exuded efficiency and a definite air of purpose.

They'd only been there a moment when Vivian Potter came walking down one of the hallways, short and slender with very pale skin, her black hair thrown carelessly over one shoulder. She was dressed, to Remus' surprise, in Muggle jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, and the dirt under her fingernails reminded him of Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher at Hogwarts. That and the perspiration still shining on her face indicated that she'd spent a long, hot afternoon outside in her herb garden. Although Vivian Potter was not normally fastidious in her appearance, she ordinarily took care to be more presentable than she was now.

"Where is he?" she demanded in a harsh voice uncharacteristic of her.

"That is what we're trying to find out," Gregoram said. "You had sent him to Diagon Alley, correct?"

"For some unicorn dung," she replied, looking quickly between the four of them. "For my fertilizing potions. He said he'd pick it up after he got done studying at the Blacks' house, and he'd drop it off after I got home, just before leaving for class. I didn't see him, and if he came back with the ingredients, I didn't see those either."

"Did he leave for Diagon Alley?"

Sirius nodded quickly from Minerva to Vivian. "Said he wanted to be back with the dung before you got home. He used Floo Powder, I think."

Vivian looked even more anxious than before. "He's not one to forget things like that...it has me worried."

"Tell you what," Remus offered, "I know which apothecary store James always goes to--it's just across the street. I'll go see if he's been by yet."

The witch at the counter seemed perfectly bored with it all, and not at all anxious to help him. In a few minutes, though, Remus was back at the Ministry building with the information they were looking for.

"She said a young man, sounds like James, came into the shop looking for unicorn dung several hours ago. They didn't have any in stock, or chimera gallbladders, for that matter. The young lady he was with wanted those, and apparently she suggested they try a place she was sure would have both ingredients."

"Young lady?" Vivian said sharply. "What did she look like? Might it have been Lily?"

James shook his head. "The description actually sounded a lot like that Rowena Heckleburst your Mum's friends with, Sirius."

This took a moment of explanation. When Sirius had told the rest who Rowena Heckleburst was, Gregoram nodded. "I remember the name, now. She'll be my assistant professor next year. If he's with her, you shouldn't have to worry. I met her once, but I've known her by reputation for some time: she's extremely competent and good-natured. All the same, I'll check and see where she is at the moment."

"How can you do that?"

"Did she tell you where she worked before Dumbledore hired her?"

"Something about a "Guild", but she wouldn't say any more."

Gregoram was nodding. "You might have heard of it, though I don't find it likely. She was a member of the Arab Guild of Alchemists and General Practitioners of the Magical Arts, known best to initiates as the "Guild". That's the name it generally goes by, in fact."

"She didn't look like she was from the Middle East," Remus pointed out.

"She's not. She's English, but she went to school in Arabia. It's rather a long story."

Sirius frowned. "What does that have to do with finding them?"

"Everything. I'll explain later--come with me."

********

He came to slowly, like he was trying to climb the sides of a steep, sandy pit that kept collapsing just as he nearly reached the top. When he finally opened his eyes and his vision cleared, he saw a pair of dark eyes staring intently into his own. He coughed once, rolled over, and was promptly sick all over the floor.

When James managed to rearrange his thoughts into some semblance of order (still too nauseous to do anything but hunch over, dry heaves wracking his midsection), his first thought was of Rowena. She must have deliberately led him into a dark alley, far from the shops, and...done something to his head. It hurt--a lot. Thinking about that didn't seem to be productive, so he considered the impacts of her betrayal. He needed to tell somebody--Merulla Black, maybe--that there was a spy working with the Ministry. For now, he just needed to figure out what on earth was going on.

Head pounding, he turned over on his side and saw the man squatting down next to him. He was, James noticed, very tall, with black hair like his own and piercing dark eyes. His robes were completely black, with a hood that seemed large enough to pull down over one's face and two holes obviously intended to see out of. He felt his stomach shrivel up.

The man reached a hand toward him, and he braced himself, but he only took his shoulder and helped him sit up. With a wave of his wand (it was very long, James noticed, and made of a darkly stained wood) he muttered, "_Coalasceo!_"

Instantly, he felt the pounding in his head subside slightly, and the nauseous feeling in his stomach abated. "Thanks," he said with a groan, reaching up to touch the back of his head gingerly.

"Don't mention it," the other replied. James examined him again--he must be in his mid-forties or so, though his face was young and he seemed to be in extremely good shape. His hair had not yet began to gray, and there were only the finest outlines of wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He smiled at James' intense scrutiny, a real smile that warmed those intense, unsettling eyes.

"What--what happened to me?"

"You were hit rather forcibly over the head with a hard, blunt object. Tentative but likely diagnosis. You may have a concussion...in fact, I think it's probable...so take it easy for awhile. I'm not exactly a qualified healer, though I do have some talent in that area."

"Where am I?"

The room reminded him of potions classes in the dungeons, without the constant smell and presence of cauldrons and tables. It was completely empty, and the only break in the stone walls, floor, or ceiling was the heavy wooden door at one end. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, it was clean (except for the disgusting mess now on the floor) and the floors had been scrubbed.

"Ah," the man said, sitting back on his heels. His smile was distant, now, and his eyes were vacant. "Now, I can't really tell you that, can I? Except for the fact that you're in one of the many underground chambers the Death Eaters have been using recently. We won't be using this one much longer...it's easier to hide if we move around."

At the first person pronoun, James felt his heart sink and recoiled slightly from the figure next to him. "You're a Death Eater, too?"

"Naturally." His mouth twitched. "You thought I was a fellow prisoner?"

"I--I don't know." He stared again at the older man. "What am I doing here?"

"Oh, you've been brought in for some questioning," he said lightly.

"Then what's going to happen to me?"

"That depends. How the questioning goes also depends on exactly how helpful you feel like being today...."

James felt a thrill of terror; he could think of several imaginative ways they could get the answers they wanted out of him.

"First, you're in training to be an Auror, aren't you?"

"Who told you that? Rowena Heckleburst?"

"That's not important. So, you are in training. James Potter, unless I'm very much mistaken--oh, don't look so surprised. We have our ways, you know. I met your parents quite some time ago and quite liked them both...you look like your mother, although you definitely have your father's jaw structure and his knees...I remember watching him standing up at the podium, with his incredibly long, gangling legs and knobby knees.... Anyway. I've been told that you're also a member of the old man's network. There's a lot we can learn from you, James Potter, if you're willing. Would you care to inform us where meetings are held, and when the next one will be?"

"No," James replied, gritting his teeth.

"No?" The man was twirling his wand between his fingers. "My superiors won't be too happy with me if I come back empty handed, you know. You won't tell, not even to help a poor old Death Eater in need?"

James stared at him in amazement. A Death Eater with a sense of humor about questioning prisoners?

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he said with another warm smile. "We've got your wand for you, by the way...but don't be expecting it back anytime soon, James. Can I call you James? Thank you. Just call out if you need anything--we've got this room monitored, so I'll know."

He stood and opened the door with his wand, which James knew would lock behind him once he closed it again. He caught a glimpse of a stone corridor outside. The Death Eater waved his wand once more, this time at the mess of blood and vomit on the floor, and it shimmered for a moment before disappearing. James stared--that was _highly_ advanced magic; not transfiguration exactly, but more like vaporizing an object completely. It was far more difficult than conjuring one up, because you had to deal with the energy given off by whatever you were destroying. He'd never managed it, and the only person he'd ever seen do it successfully was Dumbledore--and his father, Dorian Potter. James remembered reading about the process in one of his father's books, "_The Physics of Transfiguration_."

"Who are you?" he called uncertainly. There was something undeniably strange about this man--maybe it was that James had expected the Death Eaters to look and act rather like gangsters in a Muggle film. Still, besides the fact that he was obviously more powerful than most wizards James had met, he was being almost frighteningly cordial....

"I've got a few pseudonyms I switch from time to time," the Death Eater replied. "We don't like to use our real names, you know."

"So what name are you using right now?"

"I've been going by 'Marvolo' lately," the man said, one hand propping the door open. The Death Eater's smile widened. "But I suppose, since we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the near future, you can just call me Tom."

(_eerie music builds in the background...._)

I love cliffhangers! I thought about just leaving it after James blacks out, but then I realized how much more suspenseful it is this way. I assume you all understood the implications of the last paragraph? Of course, sometimes things like that just run right by you...my best friend, whose favorite character, incidentally, is Tom Riddle, didn't understand the whole first chapter of Goblet of Fire; she didn't get the reference to the _Riddle_ house and couldn't understand what the big deal was until I explained it, and I assure you, she doesn't usually miss things when she's reading. But I've blabbered quiet enough for one chapter.

Some food for thought:

Who is this mysterious Rowena Heckleburst, and what is the "Guild" she claims to work for?

Where exactly has she taken James, and is she a Death Eater herself?

Why does Professor Gregoram need an assistant teacher, and what exactly is he doing for the Ministry?

How did the Death Eaters get past the wards around the Prewetts' home? Did they have inside help? If so, who was the traitor, and has he/she been tipping off the Death Eaters about the dementors, etc. as well?

All right, I'll tell you what didn't agree with the HP books in "Arrival at the Ministry," since it's completely obscure...Moody still has both feet. How does he end up with the pegged leg? It'll be extremely important later on....

In Book IV, Dumbledore says that he Snape's already lost his first chance...so what happened to the first, and how did he earn another one?

How does Remus end up with an _old and battered_ suitcase saying "_Professor_ R. J. Lupin" on it? Again, it'll be important later on, so keep reading....

Have we discovered a new side to Voldemort's personality?

And, of course, the most vital question of all..._will Sirius pass his first exam?_

Just some things to think about....


	10. Chapter Nine: Butterbeer and Veritaserum

I had intended to have this completed and out by Tuesday. I don't think I need to explain why that didn't happen. See the bottom of the page for the Author's Note and Disclaimer, both written before Tuesday.

I'm not entirely happy with the way this chapter turned out. I'll get around to revising it eventually--although maybe I'm being too hard on myself. Tell me what you think, please.

This chapter, such as it is, is dedicated to all those who lost their lives in New York and Washington.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Psalm 23: 4-6

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Romans 8: 38-39

Chapter Nine: Butterbeer and Veritaserum

Sirius and Remus could barely keep up with Gregoram as they hurried out of the Ministry buildings and down the street. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor scarcely seemed to notice the other pedestrians on Diagon Alley--he swept past them like they didn't exist, cloak flapping behind him. 

"Where are we going?" Sirius asked, running to catch up.

"You'll see in a minute. Are you coming, Lupin?" Remus redoubled his efforts, and their speed increased slightly.

Gregoram eventually led them all the way to a tiny building right next to Eyelop's Owl Emporium. It was extremely nondescript and looked as though it had been intended to be that way--the gray walls and black tiled roof looked like any one of hundreds of Muggle homes Sirius had seen. Gregoram walked briskly up to the front door and rapped twice before turning the knob.

"Follow me, and don't be worried, whatever happens."

Sirius gave Remus an odd look and saw that he was just as confused by this remark as Sirius himself. Gregoram opened the door, and all they saw was blackness. Their former teacher stepped forward and disappeared into it.

Remus gasped in shock, and Sirius felt his mouth drop open. "Do you reckon we should follow?" he asked hesitantly. Moony nodded, recovering quickly.

"He knows what he's doing," he said confidently, and before Sirius could reply, he too had stepped into the building and disappeared.

Sirius took a quick look behind him--none of the pedestrians seemed to notice them. He wondered if the building had some sort of enchantment on it that kept anyone from really thinking about it unless they knew where they were going, rather like the Leaky Cauldron. _He_'d certainly never seen it before. Sirius took one deep breath and walked right into the doorway.

He heard the slamming sound of the door behind him but scarcely thought about it, because the moment he'd left Diagon Alley behind, the solid, dark floor beneath him had vanished, and now he was plummeting downwards through the blackness.

Sirius threw his arms out in front of him, his wand flying free of his grip, trying to catch at something--anything--to break his fall, but nothing met his frantic hands. "Remus! Professor!" There was no reply; his voice seemed to fade away the moment it left his lips. Though he could see nothing, the speed of the wind whistling in his ears told him that he was speeding up rapidly. His stomach gave an almighty lurch, as though he was being turned forcibly upside-down, and then he was blinking up at the ceiling under a bright white light. A clattering sound announced the arrival of his wand.

"Umph!" The breath had been forcibly knocked out of his body, though he didn't seem to have collided with anything.

"Padfoot...?" Remus' voice, oddly strained, came from somewhere to his left. Sirius sat up slowly and turned his head--his friend was laying on his back a few feet away, white-faced and wide-eyed in disbelief and shock.

"You're both alive and well, I trust?" Gregoram was standing over them, looking extremely amused.

"Fine," Sirius replied distantly, staring upwards. There was no long, dark tunnel to fall through, only a white ceiling.

"It comes as a bit of a surprise your first time," the Professor said, hauling Sirius to his feet. As he steadied himself, he took the opportunity to look around, and his jaw dropped.

The room they were standing in was enormous--at least the size of a Quidditch pitch, if not larger. The ceiling, on closer inspection, was not a plain white; streaks of silver darted across it, changing size and shape so quickly as to confuse the eye into thinking they weren't there. The streaks of color seemed to be streaming between each of the huge marble pillars that lined the walls every few meters. Velvet drapes of blue, scarlet, and purple hung between these, casting arced shadows across the floor and the white marble of the walls. Below their feet was an intricately worked pattern of blue, silver, and gold lines that reminded Sirius of something he thought he'd seen in a textbook.

Remus also seemed interested in the floor. He was bent down, running a finger over the lines in intense concentration. He looked up at Sirius.

"Celtic knots."

"What?"

"Never mind, you never paid attention in Magical Theory. That's what Muggles call them--they think they're just decorations and the stories about the power they hold are myths, but it's true. They're patterns like this, and if made properly, you can do quite a bit with them. This whole floor is one gigantic, complex Celtic knot."

"So, what's it used for?"

"No idea...it could be anything. I don't know much about them. Professor Quetzyl only mentioned them in passing."

Gregoram cleared his throat, and Remus snapped upright. Sirius' curiosity faded as he remembered why they were there.

"Where are we, Professor?"

"The British headquarters for the Guild."

"I thought it was in Arabia."

"Many of the members are British, including Miss Heckleburst. Follow me, and don't wander from side to side. Nasty things can happen to you in here if you're not careful."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but Gregoram had already begun to walk away. Shrugging to himself yet again, he followed, taking care to stay directly behind the Professor. They crossed the floor silently. Sirius' thoughts were back with James--could they possibly find him here?

It wasn't until they'd gotten quite close to the wall at the far end that he noticed the last two pillars in the center of the wall--there was no drape between these. Instead, he saw a shimmering silver screen that leapt and danced with static. Before he could ask Gregoram about it, the professor had stepped through it. Sirius followed quickly, bracing himself for whatever surprise lay beyond this new opening. Much to his surprise, the three of them emerged into a small office room with no remarkable features whatsoever.

The witch sitting in the chair behind the single, large desk in the room looked up as they entered, tapping a sheaf of parchments on the desk and setting them down. She was very obviously foreign, with dark skin, eyes, and hair, but when she spoke, it was in a clipped, almost too-precise British accent.

"Vincent Gregoram, is it not? I do not believe that I have seen you in quite some time."

"I haven't been here for awhile. Do you have the files on a Rowena Heckleburst?"

"Naturally, I do. Do you have access to personal files?"

"I don't."

She adjusted her spectacles and raised her eyebrows expressively at Gregoram. "I need some identification, Mr. Gregoram."

"I have none. I'm not a formal member of the Guild."

"Ah...what is it, exactly, that you need from the records?"

"Background history, whether she's been charged with any crimes, anything you have. And we need to know her exact location."

"I am afraid, Mr. Gregoram, that I cannot help you with that, if you have no identification. Perhaps it would be different at the Guild Main Headquarters."

"Do you have a gateway open?"

"It will not take long." She looked past him at Remus and Sirius. "Who are these young men?"

"They are training with the Ministry. Both can come with me."

"Just a moment--I need to check on that. Your names, please?"

"Sirius Black."

"Remus Lupin."

The witch removed an empty manila envelope from her desk drawer. "Sirius Black." There was a brief pause, and then the envelope expanded until it was bulging with papers. She took the top paper out and glanced at Sirius, then read through whatever was written on it. "That will be fine, Mr. Black." She replaced the paper. "Remus Lupin." The process was repeated, but this time she paused halfway down the sheet.

"You are a werewolf, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus nodded, flushing, but the witch didn't react the usual way at all--there was no horror or fear in her face. "I am very sorry, Mr. Lupin. You will need to remain behind. According to British law, as I am sure that you know, werewolves may not leave or enter the country without the official processing papers."

"Leave the country?" Sirius exclaimed, but Gregoram took no notice.

"That is not a Guild regulation, nor an Egyptian."

"Absolutely true, Mr. Gregoram, but the Guild works alongside the British Government. We would not want to create dissention."

"Mr. Flamel is a personal friend of mine. I'm sure he would understand."

"Quite possibly, he would understand, but he also would not want to anger the British authorities. It is best that Mr. Lupin remain here while you are gone."

Gregoram had turned, apologetically, to Remus. "I'm sorry, Lupin...perhaps you ought to go back with Mrs. Potter. She'll probably want to talk with someone right now."

"It's all right," Remus said, but his voice was strained; Sirius could tell that he wanted to come with them. "Let me know once you find out anything. And--er--how do I get out of here?"

"I will take care of that," the witch said. "Mr. Gregoram, Mr. Black, allow me a moment to ready the gateway." She took out her wand and approached the doorway they'd come in through, muttering spells and enchantments that Sirius had never heard of. When she was finished, it glowed a bright indigo, and she nodded. "That will take you directly to the Guild Headquarters. Just walk right through it."

Sirius glanced back at Remus, who smiled encouragingly. "Good luck." Gregoram led him through the gateway.

On the other side, Sirius stepped out into a teeming crowd of people in a room strikingly similar to the first they'd seen, complete with the Celtic knot engraved on the floor. On the other hand, this was far from empty. The walls were lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets, and rows of desks extended across the whole room.

"Where--"

"The Main Guild Headquarters, in Cairo, Egypt."

He'd already noticed that scarcely anyone here looked European, and the snatches of conversations he could here were not in English, but the news still came as a bit of a shock. He had no time to brood on this, however, as Gregoram was making his way through the crowd, and Sirius definitely didn't want to get lost here. As they went, it occurred to him that not few of the women their were wearing the heavy veils with eye-slits that he'd always associated with those in Egypt and the neighboring countries. He mentioned this to Gregoram.

"Not everyone here is Moslem," the Professor replied. "Besides that, the wizarding communities here are not quite as traditional in many ways as the Muggle communities. Try not to stare, though, Black, whatever you do--they might take offense."

Sirius tore his eyes away from a man with a large purple tattoo covering about half his face--he'd certainly never heard of _that_ custom, and wondered if it was an isolated example, as nobody else seemed to have one--and trotted along after Gregoram, who had begun a lecture reminiscent of countless Dark Arts classes, lapsing into the voice and vocabulary he always used in front of a class. Sirius wondered if he should be taking notes.

"The Guild is a bit similar to our Ministry, though actually it works alongside the Egyptian Magical Government as an adjunct branch. Most of the people here aren't actually Guild Members, just hirelings of the members. The Guild itself is very selective in those that it accepts. The criteria include proficiency in alchemy, defense against the dark arts, and magical theory."

In this room, there were doorways between each of the pillars, rather than the marble walls back in Diagon Alley, each with a sign above it. The words were in Arabic, but Gregoram either could read them or knew exactly where he was going; he hardly paused before choosing the corridor he wanted. "The records are kept in the North wing of the building. The Guild keeps tabs on all of its members, its employees, and anyone else they take an interest in."

"Including British Aurors-in-training?"

Gregoram smiled wryly. "As the secretary back in the British headquarters said, the Guild works with our Ministry from time to time. You would probably not find your own records here, but the Guild stations in each country will keep their records just as carefully."

"So how is this going to help us find James?"

"Supposing he and Rowena met up at one point, we can find her and see what she knows. Moody showed you his tracking globe, didn't he? Well, the Guild tracks all of its members, using a much more precise and reliable system."

"Why can't you just use a locator spell to find her, or James, for that matter?"

"You don't think I tried?"

His stomach twisted sharply. "You mean someone's concealing where they are?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"So they _have_ been taken by the Death Eaters."

"It's a good guess--for James, at least. Rowena can't be found with a locator spell. Guild members--particularly those in the Dark Force Defense League--are saturated with anti-dark spells, and they're hard to touch. Not much gets past them, aside from Avada Kedavra."

Before Sirius could completely comprehend what Gregoram was telling him, they'd reached the end of the corridor. The Professor reached up to knock on the door in front of them, and a voice answered in Arabic. He pushed the door open and motioned for Sirius to go in.

Once again, he was disappointed to find it a small room, with a single desk and secretary. What didn't at first catch his eye was the enormous world map that made up the back wall--it was perfect, down to every last detail, including the shadow cast by the sun at that particular time of day. Over the entire surface, a hundred tiny glowing pinpricks of light were blinking on and off. All were either red, blue, or green, except for about five white dots that shone brighter than the rest.

Looking down from the wall, Sirius saw that the desk in front of them was, indeed, occupied, by an Arab man with a neatly trimmed beard and, of all things, a Muggle business suit. He rose to his feet and greeted them with enthusiastic handshakes and an overflowing of deeply accented English.

"Professor Gregoram!" Sirius glanced at the other man sharply--how on earth did he become so well known around here? "You have returned to Egypt! I have not seen you in so long, Professor. Who is this that you have brought with you?"

"A former student of mine, Abdullah. How is your family?" They went on in this vein for quite some time, Abdullah exclaiming over his youngest son and his eldest daughter's marriage, before Gregoram finally got to the point.

"Abdullah, I need to call up a Guild member. We need her exact location, if possible."

"Certainly, Professor! Who is it?"

"A Rowena Heckleburst."

Abdullah removed a long wooden object from his desk drawer. It looked rather like a wand, but the tip was forked, and when he waved it at the map and said, "Rowena Heckleburst!" in a commanding voice, it glowed bright blue.

"What's that?" Sirius asked interestedly.

"This? It is a divining rod. Each of these spots of color is one of the people the Guild has decided to track." Abdullah indicated the blue dot that was now glowing more brightly than the rest. "Blue is for the Guild members, red for suspected enemies of the Guild. Green shows the honorary members, those only loosely connected. White is for our Leader and his appointed advisors. _Diviso!_"

The map flickered and suddenly, it was focused in on Western Europe, Rowena Heckleburst's dot still shining out, larger than the others. "_Diviso!_"

Now all that showed was Britain. Sirius saw that there were about ten blue dots, most gathered right near London, a few green, several red, and a single white. Besides these, Rowena's blue lay sprawled out over all of Wales and a great deal of England, blurry and rough around the edges.

Abdullah's jaw dropped. "This is not to happen," he said in astonishment. "There are no mistakes. The spell shows the exact location, not this--" He broke off, staring at the wall.

"It can only mean one thing," Gregoram said quietly; his eyes, too, were fixed on the blurry blue streak across the island. "The Death Eaters have her, too."

"Can't we do anything?" Sirius felt his voice cracking, but he didn't much care. "Can't we find them?"

"I can. But it won't be easy--this is more serious than I thought. Abdullah, send Mr. Black back to London for me. Black, find Dumbledore if you can, and tell him what's happened, he'll know what I'm doing. If you can't get a hold of him, tell Minerva instead."

"But-"

"Trust me. Hurry, though...I'll need all the help I can get."

********

195 Down--Infamous Dark Wizard, defeated in 1945

That one was easy--Grindelwald. Peter leaned forward and scratched the name out on the Daily Prophet's annual Giant Crossword, which took up nearly all of the table he'd laid it out on. 196 Down was harder--Quidditch team Captain, six letters, the first "A" and the fifth "L". He really wasn't all that great at crosswords, but they were relaxing. Sirius, on the other hand, got the Daily Prophet solely for the word puzzles, and was, surprisingly, outstanding at them. Peter frowned--James would know this, he was obsessed with Quidditch. The lounge door opened, and Arthur Weasley walked in, also on his dinner break.

"The six-letter name of a famous Quidditch captain, beginning with 'A'."

"Harrison Arnold," Weasley said promptly, sitting down next to Peter at the table. "Current captain of the Chudley Cannons."

"Thanks, sir."

It was about six now, and the mood at the Ministry was still subdued and shocked--people hadn't gotten over hearing about the Prewetts. Peter was tired out from his day of work, but there were still three hours left of it, and he was only too glad to spread his paper out on the lounge table and unwrap his corned beef sandwiches.

"What's this I hear about you quitting?"

Peter glanced up at Weasley, who looked curious rather than dismayed.

"It's not certain quite yet, I just wanted to talk to Balbus about it. I got a job offer from the Law Enforcement Department earlier today."

"Really?" He looked impressed. "As an Auror?"

"No." Peter jabbed his quill into the "D" of Arnold rather more emphatically than he meant to, hoping Weasley wouldn't notice his reaction. "In the Justice Department. They need a court secretary and an assistant for their public lawyers. It's not exactly the opportunity I was hoping for, but it could easily lead to promotions." He bit his lip, feeling guilty for some reason. "I hate to leave just now, since that there's so much work to be done and after you've done so much to help me out--but I just don't think this department's my thing."

"Don't apologize." Weasley gave him a kind smile. "Everybody's got to make their own goals. Just because yours are different from mine doesn't make that a problem. I understand completely. So, you're taking the job?"

"I start in a week. Balbus wanted me to finish up a few jobs here first."

Weasley nodded. "Makes sense." He sat down and took out his own dinner. "What do you think it'll be like, working for Crouch?"

Peter shook his head and swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. "I don't know him that well. He seems awfully strict."

He looked down at his hands, thinking hard. "He didn't seem to happy about the Committee's decision today, did he, even though he said it was unanimous. So he must have voted for Dumbledore as well."

Weasley nodded. "He probably wanted to hold a public election--thought he'd stand a good chance of winning it, and Dumbledore wouldn't run--but everyone thought it was too urgent a matter, so they decided they should get someone to fill in. Dumbledore's not _actually_ the Minister, of course, they just needed someone to exercise some authority. I'd bet Crouch only voted for him because he knew he'd lose popularity with the other department heads if he didn't."

Peter had thought of that. "Makes sense, doesn't it."

"From what I know of Crouch, which admittedly isn't much."

He leaned back in his chair, looking down at the newspaper in front of him. "What do you think of him?"

Weasley glanced at him sharply. "You want an honest opinion?"

He nodded.

"I respect him--he's my superior and he's definitely against the Dark Arts. But it's become an obsession to him, and I admit that I'm scared to death of people like that. Did I ever tell you about my father?"

Peter shook his head. He'd heard about Jakob Weasley, of course. There were few people that hadn't, but how the former Law Enforcement Head had died at the young (more so, for wizards) age of forty-nine was a well-kept secret in the Ministry, one that he'd never heard.

"He became the Head when I first went to Hogwarts; you might remember, from History of Magic classes, that although Grindelwald had been defeated several years before, his old supporters had come together and tried to gain power again. I remember what he was like before then--I was the oldest of six children, you know, and he'd play with us every moment he was home from work, unless he was spending time with Mum, taking her to concerts and that sort of thing. That all changed soon after he got the job. He'd spend almost every waking minute in London, and on the rare occasion he was home in time for dinner, he'd eat in his study, holed up behind mountains of paperwork.

"I remember an argument he had with Mum in my second year. She kept on telling him that this wasn't a job any more, it was an obsession...and that he was going to end up sacrificing everything for it if he wasn't careful. She was right, of course, though I was too young to fully understand at the time. The Ministry's still keeping what happened a secret, or trying to. He ended up killing himself--and seven others--in experimental Dark Magic he was going to use against Grindelwald's supporters."

Weasley paused, examining his sandwich carefully. Before Peter could say anything, the door opened, and Balbus Ebriel stepped in.

He was a short man, mostly bald, with a fringe of gray-brown hair above his ears and a round, cherry-red nose. Peter liked him--he was essentially good-hearted, if bumbling and not exactly sober half the time he was at work. At the moment, though, his usual cheery smile was missing.

"Pettigrew," he said shortly, "James Potter is a friend of yours, isn't he?"

"He is, sir."

"Have you seen him at all today?"

Peter stared at him in complete confusion. "No, sir, I haven't."

Balbus scratched his head and frowned. "You'd better come with me, lad."

"What's wrong?"

"Jonas McCaffrey wants to talk with you."

"About what?"

"I don't know, Pettigrew, but I don't ask questions. I'd hurry if I was you."

"Yes, sir."

Peter stood, tossing the remains of his sandwich into a dustbin and crossing to the door. What was going on? Was something the matter? Something, of course, being completely aside from the fact that their Minister of Magic was dead and his new boss was obsessed with killing dark wizards.

Several minutes later, after crossing the street into another ministry building, Peter found himself in the Law Enforcement offices, Balbus directed him to McCaffrey's office. "He should be in there. If he's not, just wait a few minutes, and he'll show up."

His department head left without another word of explanation. Peter followed his directions until he arrived at McCaffrey's door. His knock was answered with a curt, "Come in!"

McCaffrey's office was similar in layout to Fletcher's, although it didn't look as though it had been recently set upon by a rabid manticore. The Auror was sitting behind his desk, but Remus, Minerva McGonagall, and Vivian Potter were also there. They all turned to look at him as he came in.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. He'd seen Remus with that face on before, but the last time had been when they'd all been told that they were going to Azkaban.

"It's Potter," McCaffrey replied without preamble, swiveling around in his chair and motioning Peter to a seat. "He hasn't been seen since this morning."

"Well, he could be anywhere, couldn't he? That's no reason to get worried."

"He missed an Auror's class this afternoon, and nobody's seen him since. We've tried a locator spell. It's not working."

Peter's mouth had gone dry, and he stared from McCaffrey to Vivian, whose was staring blankly at the opposite wall. "You don't think--you don't think the Death Eaters--what would they want with James?"

"He was last seen with a young woman that the Death Eaters seem very interested in. If they managed to find her when they were together, it doesn't look good. Do you know where he might be?"

"I don't have any idea."

"Sirius and Professor Gregoram are trying to find out," Remus put in optimistically.

"Where are they?"

"It's a bit of a long story...."

"But will they find him?"

"Quite possibly, but it won't be easy. The Death Eaters will have thought of everything."

That, Peter thought decisively, was not very reassuring.

********

The door opened once more, and James was startled out of the daze he'd fallen into. He peered through the darkness--the room was dimly lit by an unseen light source--at the opening, where several dark shapes were moving. The short, thicker one shoved the other forward, and it collapsed down onto hands and knees. The door swung shut as the first figure disappeared into the corridor, closing with an ominous thud.

James caught his breath as the light threw her face into sharp relief.

"Rowena!"

There was no reply, just pained, gasping breaths. She lay facedown on the floor, shuddering every few seconds but otherwise quite still. How had she run afoul of her fellow Death Eaters?

Rowena's betrayal still smarted, but he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. She was obviously hurt and weak, a condition he could relate to. The pounding in his head had receded somewhat by now, fortunately, and his body didn't ache too badly as he crawled toward her on hands and knees.

"Miss Heckleburst?"

She let out a moan, raising her head slightly from the ground and turning her eyes to stare blankly at him. When Rowena recognized him, she closed them again and laid her head back down. He could see her throat working as she swallowed.

"James."

"It's me. Can you sit up?"

"If you'd help me." He did so, raising her shoulders and helping her over to lean against the wall.

"I'm all right. Just sore." Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in shaking hands.

"What did they do to you?" She didn't reply, just shook her head and sat there, hunched over and quite obviously in pain.

"Is there anything I can do?" She shook her head again, then raised it from her hands, wiping perspiration from her forehead.

"It'll go away soon enough. I just need to rest."

"If you say so. What did they want?"

"Information."

"What information?"

"The room is being monitored, James. I'm sure of it. That's probably why they put us both here, hoping to overhear something. Besides, the less you know, the less they'll have to torture you for."

He'd regained his earlier resentment. "Why would _you_ care?"

Rowena stared at him in confusion. "Of course I'd care, do you think I want to see you tortured to death?"

"That's why you brought me here, isn't it?"

Understanding flashed through in her brown eyes. "You think _I_ did this?" Rowena laughed, a harsh, biting sound. "No. I was taken completely by surprise. I suppose it serves me right--I should have known better than to take a shortcut like that one."

James flushed. "I'm sorry. I just thought--"

"It's understandable."

"How long do you think it'll be before somebody notices we're gone?"

She shrugged, her shivers having abated somewhat. "When I don't show up to help Merulla out tomorrow, most likely. If it is tomorrow still. How long have we been here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. My watch is broken--I think I knocked it against something when I got hit over the head."

"What about your mother? Surely she'll get worried if you don't come home."

"So maybe by evening they'll know I'm gone, at least. And I had a class with Moody this afternoon. Sirius and Remus will notice if nobody else does. But how much of a difference will it make? They'll have no way of telling where we are, or even if we're still alive, supposing that they work out who took us."

Rowena shook her head. "There's a way...but it might not work, if the Death Eaters have thought of it. And that's supposing anyone thinks to check, or realizes that we were together...."

James leaned back on the wall next to her, trying to ignore the now distant aching in his head and limbs. "In the meantime, what will the Death Eaters do with us?"

"Torture." Her tone was bleak, and he wished he could see her eyes in the dim light. "I don't know what they want you for."

"Information about Dumbledore's network of spies, I suppose. Not that I know much."

"Still, at the risk of sounding self-centered, I'd hazard the guess that I was the main target here. You were just a bonus. They can't expect a recent initiate to know much about the network at this point."

Rowena broke off, out of breath and panting. She coughed once, swallowed, and resumed. "They'll keep us here until they get what they want, unless it becomes too risky. In that event, there's only one thing they'd do with us." He didn't need to ask what that might be.

They both subsided into silence and their own private thoughts. James' flew to his mother--how was she taking this? Did she even know yet? And what about his friends--Sirius would be trying to convince the Ministry that they ought to torture Snape for information about where the Death Eaters might have taken him. Remus would pace up and down, hands clasped behind his back and a frown concealing any other expression that might cross his face. Peter would be somehow convinced it was all his fault, and Lily would be trying to comfort him.

His next thought was that he might never see any of them again. His stomach twisted painfully at the idea, and he lapsed into a dreamy half-trance in which no thought was necessary.

Rowena broke him out of it, what might have been hours later, with a small sigh.

"You shouldn't be here."

He sat up slightly, squinting across the floor at her. She was staring fixedly at the door, biting her lip in agitation. "You should never have been involved in this. They were after me, James, and it's my fault that we're here." He wasn't sure what to tell her, and when he tried to say something, she cut him off. "No, I was careless. I know better than to go wandering around in dark alleys." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're too young to be involved in things like this."

He laughed. "I'm almost eighteen and I'm training to be an Auror. I'd better get used to it. Besides, you can't be much older than I am!"

"I'm twenty-eight. Ten years, James. Ten short years that you should be spending playing Quidditch, getting married, and finding a job somewhere safe."

"Did you?"

There was silence, and then another sound--that of a door creaking open. James could barely make out the tall outline of the cloaked figure standing there. Rowena seemed to be holding her breath and waiting for something. The moment came when the Death Eater had entered the room and shut the door behind him: in a sudden burst of energy, she leapt to her feet and threw herself at him. James was too shocked to do anything, and in seconds, it was over. Tom had her firmly by the shoulders and she hung, limp and winded, in his grasp.

"That was not wise, Miss Heckleburst." Tom's voice was gentle and faintly amused. "Irritating your captors won't get you anywhere; you are in no physical condition to overpower me. Was this what you wanted?"

He indicated his long, thin wand, held in one hand with Rowena's arm. "Even if you were to obtain a wand, there's no good in apparating out of here, you know. And there are guards. Do calm down, my dear. I've no intention of hurting you." He set her gently down on the ground and turned away.

"James. Is your head any better?"

"It is, thank you."

"Good--come with me. Do you need a hand up?"

"I can manage." He got slowly to his feet, and Rowena shuddered.

"He doesn't know anything. He can't tell you--"

"I think he can. Come along; you stay here, Miss Heckleburst."

They left her staring helplessly after them. The corridor outside was cold and damp, and James shivered in his thin summer robes. Tom glanced at him.

"Are you doing all right?"

"Fine."

Tom smiled slowly at him, eyes twinkling in a way frighteningly reminiscent of Dumbledore's. James shuddered. "You're awfully resentful of me, aren't you? I suppose it's natural. But you see, I don't have much of a choice in this matter, do I? You have your superiors at the Ministry, I have mine here. Their orders aren't always those you'd like."

"Crouch has never made us torture people."

"Hasn't he?"

James stopped cold, staring into Tom's intense, dark eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked harshly.

Tom's smile had disappeared completely, and there was no mirth in his tone now. "James, think about it. Hasn't he tortured your classmates and yourself? Your best friends? Didn't you see them screaming in pain on the classroom floor? And aren't you learning how to do that to other people? If the Cruciatus isn't torture, James, I don't know what is."

James' mouth had gone dry; it was as though his own thoughts and fears, buried so deep that he hadn't known they existed, had been laid bare and he was forced to look at them. "That's different." His voice came out in barely a whisper. "It--it's for a greater good. The Ministry only wants to help--"

"Has no one ever told you that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?" Tom's face was pale, his eyes dark, glittering orbs in that white countenance. "It's true, James. I've seen it happen. I've seen people who thought they were fighting for the 'greater good' turn into inhuman monsters, willing to go to any means to achieve their own ends. That is who the Death Eaters are, James."

He turned and continued on down the corridor. James had to hurry to catch up.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll find out."

He'd no sooner said so than they turned a corner and met up with a shorter, thick-bodied man, whose cloak and hood matched Tom's. This hood, on the other hand, was pulled up to reveal nothing of the Death Eater's head but his eyes, which took in the scene at a glance.

"This the initiate we captured?"

"Yes, sir." Tom's tone was submissive.

"I'll take him, Marvolo. You have other jobs to be taking care of." Tom nodded and, before turning away, flashed James a quick glance, whether in warning or in encouragement, he didn't know.

The other Death Eater's voice was gravelly and low but authoritative. He jerked his hand for James to go on in front of him, and James knew without looking that there was a wand pointed at his back every step of the way. He tried to remember the twists and turns of the passages for future reference, but there was nothing distinctive in the darkness to guide him, and they took too many corners to remember.

"In here." The door they stood in front of looked exactly like the door in James' dungeon. It flew open with a wave of the Death Eater's wand, and James walked into the room, trying to conceal his terror. The sight that met his eyes was not reassuring.

A single, black-robed figure stood on one side of the room, which was furnished exactly like his cell--not at all. That was, of course, except for the large crystal ball standing in one corner. It gleamed dully in the light thrown by several torches lining the walls. James wondered what it was doing there. His Death Eater poked him sharply in the back with his wand, and he stumbled forward into the room under the intense scrutiny of the other at the back wall.

"James Potter," the Death Eater said in a distant voice that James realized, with some surprise, was female. She crossed the room to the crystal ball and sat down in front of it, taking out her wand and pointing it at him. "_Auguro!_"

Expecting the worst, he flinched away from her. Instead, the feeling in his body dissipated until he sagged limply to the floor, only dimly aware of his hands and knees striking the rock. It was incredibly difficult to think, like he was forcing his thoughts through a thick pudding....

Then, quite suddenly, the fogginess in his mind seemed to flicker, and his thoughts flew unerringly to a conversation he'd had just the previous evening with Jonas McCaffrey.

"_Good, Potter. You're catching on quickly, all of you. Vincent told me about the Patronus._"

"_Thank you, sir._"

"_You know, Potter, there's no need for all that formality. Call me McCaffrey or just Jonas, almost everyone at the Ministry does._"

"_Yes, sir. If you says so._"

He could hear the grin in his mentor's voice.

"_You'll get used to it. Most new Aurors do sooner or later--we're a close-knit lot. We have to be--you've got to get to know the people who're guarding your back._

"_Oh, by the way, Potter, before I forget...there's another meeting Sunday afternoon at six, same place, at Crouch's mansion again_."

James' eyes were drawn to the crystal ball as the scene replayed itself in his mind. Distantly, he saw two figures inside it, talking to one another--and realized that he could hear what they were saying--

Horrified, he jerked his thoughts away from the conversation. Something else--anything else!

__

"As I said, the previous meeting was for the general public. This is not. This meeting is for a smaller group of individuals who are directly involved in the struggle against Voldemort. This session will mostly be introductory. We will bring all of you up-to-date on the current situation and explain where you will become involved for the time being. We have decided that it would be best for each of you to be taken on as 'apprentices' for some of the more experienced of the group."

Dumbledore's voice echoed through James' mind and through the room, his face in the flickering light of Crouch's mansion clearly visible in the crystal ball.

"_NO!_"

The shout burst uncontrollably from him. It was just like breaking free of the Imperius curse--once he gained the will to do so, his head cleared immediately; along with the clarity came the distant ache in his head and the new, sharp pain where his knees and palms had hit the ground.

The woman at the crystal ball looked down at him.

"This is going to be more difficult than I'd hoped."

"He might not know much."

"He probably doesn't. Still, I want everything I can get. _Auguro_."

"_One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...._"

He thought back to a trick Moody had taught them--it was a way of concentrating yourself to break the Imperius curse. James set his mind firmly on one number after another; it was a simple task, but it might well work. Though he was counting inside his head, he could hear the words emerging from the corner the witch was sitting in. He felt something nudging his mind back to Dumbledore and McCaffrey, but he gritted his teeth and concentrated.

Sensation returned again. The witch had lifted her wand.

"It's not working. He's learned to fight it."

"There are other ways."

The witch stood up, and although her face was covered, James could hear the frown in her voice. "I don't like it, Mulligan. We don't want to end up with damaged goods--they aren't worth anything."

"He isn't worth anything if he doesn't talk, healthy or not."

"Very well. _Crucio_."

Pain...unbelievable, ripping, tearing pain flooded through him...for only the barest instant. He'd scarcely had time to scream before the it ceased, and the witch was looking down at him.

"That," she said quietly, "was the smallest fraction of what we can do to you. Do you want to feel it again?"

He screamed, thrashing about helplessly on the floor, just as he'd done a day ago on the floor of his classroom. Again, it was over almost before it began.

"Now, James Potter...what do you know about the wards set up around the Crouch mansion?"

"_Nothing._" He had to force the word out between clenched teeth.

"Is that so? Perhaps something to jog your memory. _Crucio_.

"Quite enough, Potter?" She'd bent down until she was looking directly into his face.

James let out a low moan, squeezing his eyes shut. "I told you, I don't know anything...." The words came out in a harsh, choked gasp.

"Is that so, Potter? Perhaps something a bit more specific. If you don't know anything about Crouch's house...you cannot be totally ignorant of the Aurors' work. That Jonas McCaffrey's caused us a good deal of trouble, you know."

_I'll bet he has_, James thought fiercely. _And I'll take Avada Kedavra before I give him or the others away._

Funny, though. I don't know anything. What could I possibly--

The thought was cut off when he felt a hard, pointed object--probably her wand--pressed against his chest.

"Now, I want you to think hard and carefully, Potter, and then I want you to tell me everything you know."

"I already told you, I don't...."

"_Crucio!_"

This time, it didn't seem to end. The pain started, and it just kept going...and going...just when he thought he couldn't possibly stand it any longer, he heard the door come open with a loud bang that just cut through his screams, and the Death Eater lowered her wand. Tom was standing in the doorway.

"Clumsy work," he said, taking in the scene at a glance. "You're going about it all wrong."

"Marvolo, don't get out of line. You're not in charge here."

"Maybe not, but I've got my orders, Mulligan. The higher-ups weren't too happy when they found out what you'd planned for him, and what you'd done to the last prisoner."

James found a sickening sort of pleasure in the fear that seemed to creep up into Mulligan's voice, though he was obviously trying to hide it.

"This is the only way we're going to get any information out of him. Get out of here."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't think it's any of your business."

"When you're killing off useful prisoners, it's my business. Once I learned what you planned to do to him, I informed Titulus. He wasn't especially happy about it."

" '_Titulus_' has no authority over me, and neither do you, Marvolo."

Tom had been slowly advancing on Mulligan, and now he leaned slowly forward until the stockier man was backed into the wall, glaring defiantly up at him.

"Don't I, Mulligan? Perhaps a demonstration of the authority I _do_ have...."

Their faces were so close together that Tom's nose must be pressing into Mulligan's forehead, though James couldn't see clearly--he was still on the floor, his vision swimming, and Tom's back was turned to him. Something must have happened, though, because an instant later, Mulligan had drawn in a tight breath, and he let out a terrified whimper.

"Now," Tom said slowly, pronouncing each word with perfect clarity, "are you satisfied?"

The other Death Eater couldn't even manage a nod, but as he sank, trembling, against the wall at his back, it was fairly obvious that Tom had convinced him of whatever authority he claimed to have. The female Death Eater was looking on in puzzlement, if James was reading her posture correctly--he couldn't even see her eyes beyond the mask from his position on the floor.

Tom turned abruptly, leaving Mulligan shaking with fear, and looked down at James. "Come with me. There are better ways to be doing this." He glared at the witch as he helped James to his feet and ushered him out of the room.

James stared at him in disbelief, the remnants of the pain in his body put aside for the complete confusion that was filling his mind.

"What did you do? How--"

"That's not important. Arrogant fool--he knows better than that."

"I thought you said your superiors--"

"I should have been left in charge of you. Mulligan will learn not to disobey direct orders. He hoped to gain approval from the Dark Lord; I doubt that he has succeeded."

"Now what's going to happen to me?"

"You'll be questioned. My way."

Tom raised his wand, and the stone walls around them dissolved. Much to James' astonishment, he found himself seated on a sofa in an elegantly furnished room. Tom was standing next to him.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, rising to his feet and staring about at his surroundings. "Where--"

"Our whole hideout is not all cold stairways and dungeons. Are you hungry?"

James choked, unable to reply. Tom nodded once and moved swiftly to the door on the other side of the room. "Don't try anything foolish, James. Security's no laxer here than anywhere else." He walked out, and James sank back onto the couch, his head spinning. Could Tom possibly have any power over the other Death Eaters? And how did his idea of "questioning" involve plushy armchairs and food?

The Death Eater returned in a moment, a large tray of steaming food floating in front of him. He used his wand to set it gently down on the table in front of James and took his own seat across from him.

"Help yourself, there's more where that came from."

He stared down at the tray--roast chicken and butterbeer never looked so good. On the other hand....

Tom was smiling in his distant sort of way, obviously amused. "I haven't poisoned it, if that's what you're thinking. We can't have you starving to death, can we?"

"I'm sure Avada Kedavra's more fun."

His voice sharpened. "Eat. If it helps, I'll have some too."

"I'm not hungry."

His stomach gave a telltale rumble. James watched Tom cut up a slice of the chicken and swallow it before he himself reached for a plate. The food was delicious, made all the more so because he'd spent the last few hours walled up in a cold dungeon with nothing to eat. This prompted a question.

"How long have I been here?"

"About nine hours. It's eight at night right now."

He reached for the butterbeer--it was hot and thick, and it warmed him up from his head to his toes. James took another sip and relaxed a bit; he could breathe normally now, without sudden stabs of pain.

"So, perhaps you'll answer my questions?"

"No." James bit into another slice of chicken and thought he'd die of pure pleasure. "I don't know anything."

"I believe you know more than you think. Have some more butterbeer."

James took another glass gratefully. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded and wondered if the drink was stronger than usual. Tom waited until he'd drained the glass.

"How many others did Dumbledore decide to bring into his network?"

"Five." He had the funniest idea he shouldn't be saying this, but it felt right. Of course he'd answer all the questions he was asked. "Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Severus Snape."

Tom smiled across at him, and he wondered vaguely why he had ever found the Death Eater at all threatening. He was perfectly trustworthy, and James needed to help him. "And who are their mentors?"

"Lily's with Arabella Figg, Sirius is with Edward Cole, Remus is with Professor Gregoram, Peter's mentor is Mundungus Fletcher, and Snape's got Moody."

"And what do you know about each of them?"

"Not too much. I know Arabella Figg works for the Law Enforcement office and the Department of Mysteries. Cole's an Unmentionable, so I've got no idea what he does. Sirius might know. Professor Gregoram's the Defense teacher at Hogwarts, so I know him pretty well. He's an only child, I think, and he lives somewhere in Scotland. He's working for the Ministry, too, but I'm not sure how. Fletcher manages the intelligence part of the network, keeping records and all that. Moody's the best Auror the Ministry's got."

"What was that about Gregoram?"

"He's doing some secret work for the Ministry. Rowena's helping him teach this year because he needs time off to do that job. I think he's reporting to Crouch about it."

"What makes you think that?"

"Crouch was angry with him about the dementors, if I remember right. That was the idea I got."

Tom nodded and handed him another glass of butterbeer. He drank it down immediately and without protest. "Do you know anything about the wards on the Crouch mansion?"

"Crouch said they were as secure as he could make them. That's all I know."

"Have another drink, James."

Tom was holding out a glass into which he'd just put a drop or two of some clear liquid from a small vial he'd been hiding in his robes. James took it, and the moment he swallowed, his lightheadedness doubled. He seemed to be fading slowly from the room...he was still answering questions, but he didn't seem to need to think about them at all...it was the most natural thing in the world...he was floating away....

The world gradually disappeared, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting back in his cold dungeon cell, feeling more than a little giddy.

"Rowena?" he called, or, rather, tried to. His throat didn't quite seem to be working properly. James tried hard to remember what had just happened. He'd been with Tom, he remembered, but anything besides that was a blurry spot in his memory. For some reason, it seemed urgent that he remember--what had Tom wanted? Something about Crouch, he thought.

"James, can you hear me?"

He coughed to clear his throat. "Is that you?"

"It's Rowena. What did they do to you?"

"I don't remember. Tom-"

"That Death Eater who took you away?"

"That's him. He--said something to me, but I don't remember what. Something about butterbeer." It occurred to him, belatedly, exactly how ridiculous that sounded. "How did I get back here?"

" 'Tom' brought you back just a few minutes ago. Set you on the floor and left without a word."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. He used Veritaserum on you."

He leaned back against the wall, trying to puzzle it all out, despite the fact that his head still didn't seem quite attached to his shoulders.

"How do you know that?"

"I know the symptoms. I've had a lot of practice with brewing and using Veritaserum; it comes in handy in my line of work. Do you remember what they asked you about?"

"Nothing. It'll come to me when my head clears."

"Most likely."

There was silence for another minute. "So what exactly _is_ your line of work?"

"I'm a member of the Dark Force Defense League."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not. Why else do you think I got chosen for the Dark Arts job? Dumbledore only picks people with lots of experience."

"Is that what they questioned you about?"

"Yes, that's what they, very ineptly, tortured me for. 'Tom' seems to know what he's doing."

"He does. He doesn't seem like my idea of a Death Eater, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think he wanted to hurt me, just find out what I had to say."

"Didn't he? That's what the Death Eaters do, James. They kill people. Tom's one of them; you can't trust anyone at this point. Particularly not someone who's holding you captive."

"I know. It's just--strange, that's all. I can't quite figure him out."

The door slammed open with a loud bang, and the room was lit by several glowing wands.

"Up! Both of you!"

It was Mulligan, flanked by four others. James recognized the tall one on the left immediately. Before he could sit up, Mulligan's boot collided painfully with his side.

"Don't ask questions, just move!"

He was being shoved out the door, half-supported by Tom and another Death Eater. "We're changing hideouts," Tom whispered close to James' ear so the others wouldn't hear. "Don't react, just go along with everyone."

They were following the same path as he'd been led down earlier, but Mulligan stopped much sooner and turned to open the door to yet another dungeon cell.

"The wards are down here. They're going to use a Portkey."

Two of the Death Eaters were with Mulligan on the other side of the room, bending over something that James couldn't see. Tom remained with him, and one of the others was standing next to Rowena.

To his complete shock, James felt a thin piece of wood slide into the sleeve of his robes. It was warm in his hand--

"Apparate once you feel the Portkey tugging you away, back to the Ministry buildings. It's the only chance you'll have."

Tom glanced up at the rest. The three in the corner were straightening up, but the Death Eater next to Rowena had turned away. James saw the look on her face and realized with another thrill of astonishment that she, too, had been given back her wand.

"Don't say a word!"

"Come here, both of you!" Rowena and James were shoved forward to take a hold on the long woolen sock he assumed they'd just charmed as a Portkey.

_Apparate back to the Ministry buildings...._

The Death Eaters had fallen into place. Although he was holding the sock with one hand, he closed his other around the wand up his sleeve.

"Five seconds."

_Apparate back to the Ministry buildings...._

He fixed the visual in his mind, exactly as he'd seen it a hundred times.

"Three...."

Tom nudged him with his own wand as a silent reminder. Rowena, standing in front of him, was tensed and ready.

"Two...."

This couldn't possibly be happening.

"One...."

A powerful force seized him in the stomach, and he was flying forward...but not for long....

"_Apparo!_"

Someone else shouted it at exactly the same time, and the familiar white curtain sprang up between him and the rest of the world as James was forcibly yanked from the Portkey's pull.

Another jerk, and he was thrown backwards.

His vision flickered and held, and they were both sitting in the middle of Diagon Alley, wands outstretched, except a funny blue cloud was hanging around them, and a loud voice was shouting, "_Employees of the Ministry and private citizens are reminded that as of noon today, wards are being set up so that one can disapparate from, but not apparate into, all Ministry buildings in London, so please make travel arrangements accordingly....Employees of the Ministry and private citizens are reminded that as of noon today, wards are being set up so that one can disapparate from, but not apparate into, all Ministry buildings in London, so please make travel arrangements accordingly...._"

The doors to the Ministry building were thrown open, and half a dozen Hit Wizards came pouring out.

"Oh, dear," Rowena muttered inanely.

"Stop right where you are! Don't try to move!"

Neither of them did.

"Garrett..." said one of the witches exasperatedly. "This is getting out of hand. My goodness, what's happened to the two of you?"

"That's not important right now," Rowena said impatiently. "I need to speak with Jonathan Prewett immediately."

The witch and Garrett looked uneasily at each other, and then the woman turned back to them.

"Jonathan Prewett was murdered last night."

"_What?_"

"You hadn't heard?"

"I most certainly hadn't." Rowena's voice was shaking, and James felt almost as horrified as he had when he realized the Death Eaters had captured them.

"That," Garrett interrupted, "does nothing to explain what the two of you are doing here."

"We didn't know about the wards. This just makes it all the more urgent. Albus Dumbledore or Barty Crouch then, but I need to talk to them. Now."

"Hold it right there! You're in no position to--"

Though Rowena hadn't moved, and her wand remained limply at her side, an invisible force had lifted Garrett forcibly into the air, where he hung, twisting frantically.

"I am a member of the Dark Force Defense League, and I have important information for Crouch. I am in a perfect position to demand that you release us and show us to where we can talk with him."

Visibly frightened, the witch waved her wand at the two of them, and the blue mist (which had made any movement sluggish and hard to accomplish) disappeared. Rowena gently set Garrett back onto the ground and got to her feet.

"Now, if you would be so kind...."

He nodded frantically and led the way back into the building. James trailed along behind, gaping as openly as the Hit Wizards.

Disclaimer: As always, it's all J. K. Rowling.

9/10/01--Author's Note: I about started sobbing when I looked at the reviews for my story...most were about a page long.... Sigh. So here's a thank-you and response for everybody.

Trepidatio: Ooh, good luck at college...where are you going? I mean, obviously, you don't have to tell me (it's the internet and all) but I'd like to know. Everyone seems to think I should be figuring out where I'm supposed to be headed, but I'm not even graduating from high school for a few years. Plenty of time for that later. Anyway...I'll get around to the Imperio thing after awhile, I'm working on coming up with a good enough idea for its origins. It'll come eventually. Thanks so much, you're on my "favorite reviewers" list, among so many others. 

JenesisDark: I'm different, am I? I love it! On a site like this, with 17500-some HP fics, that's saying a lot...thanks so much.

lore: I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

Episcopal Witch: What can I say? I'm delighted that you like Gregoram and Peter, I do too...and as for Tom Riddle, I have some interesting possibilities in mind for him...James won't be finding out who he is for quite some time, if ever. Let's see...what else...oh, yes, there will be a "cataclysmic" event of sorts that will set Remus' ostracism in motion. It will also lead to the suitcase thing; I've got that all planned out. And it has to do with the "Guild" and what I have in store for Gregoram, and meeting James' cousin, Malcolm Quirrell, since you asked. See, what I'm trying to do is set up a plotline for each of the four main characters, and the climax for each will occur at about the same time. The trouble is, each plotline's not going to last more than a year of their time or so. Have you noticed how slowly it's moving? I'm going to have enough type for about twenty novels by the time I'm done. The more, the merrier, I suppose.

Lena: I'm going to review your story...eventually...I've read it, but I won't say anything because I want to save that for reviewing. The trouble is, I usually only get about five minutes at most on the Internet, unless I catch my parents in a good mood and they don't need the phone line. So most of that five minutes is spent copying stories onto my hard drive, checking reviews, and updating. I checked out that website, www.schnoogle.com, and I considered getting an account. Then I read the info you have to submit--I mean, really. What do they want my birth date and home address for? I'm flattered that you think I should post my story, but I don't feel comfortable giving out that sort of information--I'm only 15, maybe I'll do it when I'm older. I love the site, though, so thanks a lot for recommending it! Reread my response for E. W., most of it applies to you too...thank you for reviewing. It's responses like the ones I've gotten recently that make this worthwhile and use up all the Kleenex in the house.

All right, we're going to try coming up with an even longer chapter. That'll be interesting, but I've got so much planned, it'll work out just fine, I'm sure! That's why this took so long. My sincere apologies, I thought maybe you'd prefer a better chapter to a quicker one.

9/15/01--I began this chapter, including the trip to Egypt, well before the eleventh. Please don't misconstrue any references to Arabs--I don't think anyone could possibly take offense, there's nothing derogatory whatsoever, but I just thought I'd be careful. I know that there has been talk of possible hate crimes against American Arabs lately. I have the profoundest respect for those of that nationality.

I really do apologize for taking so long. I did my best, but school started, and Calc at the university...the last week or two has been a bit of a nightmare. I'll try to move a little faster.


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